Drowning on Dry Land
by Orison
Summary: "I can't, Lou…" Steve whispered as soon as the woman disappeared from their sight, his voice so quiet that he almost missed it. "I can't be the guy who shoots his partner. I just—I can't be that guy…"
1. Chapter 1

**Drowning on Dry Land - Chapter one**

* * *

A/N: Hello, everyone, and thanks again for the support on my previous works.

This is a longer project I've been working on for quite a while now. I'm almost done writing it so I feel safe posting it. Would hate to leave you guys hanging.

The idea for this story was born out of a "what if?" scenario. In eight seasons and countless fanfictions, we've seen the guys go through every possible event. What I tried to do here is analyze the result of possibly the worst outcome my two favorite characters could face, and try to imagine how a man like Steve would react to it.

It is mainly an angsty piece that also has friendship and yes, whump. And hopefully the two of them will be alright at the end so buckle up, get ready to start this ride and let me know what you think about it.

Spoilers: general knowledge of the series up to season eight. This is set before the quarantine episode so in this universe, Danny never got shot.

* * *

' _The most intimate emotion two people can share_

 _Is neither love or desire, but pain.'_

\- Tess Gerritsen, The Surgeon

* * *

In his dreams, he was always running.

Jogging along the beach to clear his mind, sprinting to take cover under the enemy's fire, chasing after suspects he was never going to get.

Some of those dreams were peaceful, some sad. Images and dialogues that he could barely remember in the morning, distant memories that slowly faded away as he started his day and went on with his life.

And then, every once in a while, he would wake up in a cold sweat after a particularly haunting vision. He'd sit up in bed amid the tangled sheets, heart hammering furiously inside his chest, and wait for the fear to subside, relieved that he had escaped the nightmare and that it was all in his head.

This time, the nightmare was real. And Steve knew there would be no escape.

* * *

 _8 hours earlier_

"This should be it. Manager said last door to the left." Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett's voice was drowned by the loud music coming from the apartment they were about to check.

"What?" Special Operator 2nd Class Junior Reigns unconsciously stilled, tightening the grip on his 9mm as he strained to hear his superior's words. The blaring sound had assaulted them as soon as they'd entered the building and he wondered how any neighbor could sleep, talk or even watch TV without losing their sanity.

Stealing a glance in the taller man's direction, he marveled for the umpteenth time at the ex-Navy SEAL's compartmentalizing skills. His lean, athletic body was inching carefully along the hallway, laser gaze focused on the target at the end of it. He moved with the utmost precision, calculating any sudden danger that might present along their path as if he had everything under control.

All this while one of his men was in the hospital and his partner was missing.

"This way," Steve mouthed, pointing to the end of the deserted hallway. To the untrained eye, he appeared as the invincible military man who could emerge unscathed from any situation and had mastered the art of keeping a closed lid on his emotions. But that man was no longer in charge. Not today. Not when his partner's life was on the line. The cold-hearted soldier had been replaced by the terrified friend who knew enough about crime and human nature to realize that the person who meant the most to him in the world was in the hands of a deranged lunatic.

And that he was responsible for it.

" _You're not skipping the appointment, Steven."_

" _I won't skip it. I'll reschedule."_

" _Nonsense. You're going to the doctor."_

" _Danny, this case is important."_

" _Your health is important, you idiot. Checkups are important."_

" _I feel fine."_

" _Then humor me, alright? Go, and then bust my chops about it. We, your team, can handle one hour without you."_

" _I know that. But maybe you should tell Lou—"_

" _Steve! We'll be fine. Call me when you're done."_

Steve trusted the ex-SWAT Captain with his life, but there was only one person he counted on to back his partner up, and that was himself. Yet, he had gone to the doctor, more to appease Danny than himself, while the rest of his team gathered to take care of the tasks of the day. Forty-five minutes later, as soon as he'd set foot out of the hospital, he had called his partner for updates, and the call had gone straight to voicemail. Which wasn't totally unusual, he'd reasoned at first.

His second call had been to Grover, and upon hearing another recorded message Steve's frown had deepened. As his heartbeat accelerated to an unhealthy rhythm, he'd rushed to the Silverado and peeled away from the parking lot, his fingers automatically reaching for the third name on his list of recent calls. According to Jerry, the two men had gone to check an address in Wahiawa. Five-0 was after a large shipment of drug, and the men responsible for bringing the deadly substance to the island had been eluding them for two days. That morning, while Steve's blood was being drawn and his list of medications updated, Ortega had caught a break in the case, providing the team with a possible location that Danny and Lou had wasted no time heading to.

Immediately after hearing the news, Steve had pulled a U-turn, picked up the younger Navy SEAL currently residing at his place and driven to the address. What the two ex-militaries had found had sent Steve's heartbeat skyrocketing to even more dangerous levels. HPD cruises were surrounding the scene, their roof lights magnifying the sense of urgency that permeated the air. Yellow tape cordoned off part of the area, keeping unwanted personnel away. And on the far corner, an ambulance had its rear doors open as if ready to welcome the injured.

Steve didn't remember climbing out of the truck and pushing his way through the officers and the bustling activity, but he did remember with vivid clarity the fear that had seized his heart when he couldn't spot his partner anywhere, not even on the stretcher sitting inside the emergency vehicle. And that fear had increased exponentially when the occupant of that stretcher, Lou Grover, had told him that one of the two perps they were after had fled and taken Danny with him. When the older man had tried to stop him, he'd been repaid with a gunshot to the shoulder.

The task force leader had stood there, hand on his head in shocked bewilderment like he had done years before on foreign soil when he'd realized Victor Hesse was about to kill his father, trying to process how everything had gone so monumentally wrong in such a short amount of time, and chastising himself for not being there to back Danny up as his duty required.

His memories of the drive back to HQ were fuzzy as well. It had been Duke Lukela who had called Five-0's newest member, Tani Rey, to ask her to meet Lou at the hospital so that the man wouldn't be alone and get his statement, and Junior who had informed Jerry of the unsettling developments and urged him to run the prints they'd dusted from the neatly-packed stacks of cocaine.

Because the only good news, case-wise, was that they'd seized the drugs. All 200 pounds of it, making it the second biggest drug bust in Hawaiian history.

He didn't have all the details but right now, Steve didn't care. All he wanted was someone to focus his anger on to keep his mind off what his best friend had gone through while he was safe inside the hospital getting his health checked.

Gathering around the smart table, the remaining team members had frantically worked for clues until they'd finally been rewarded with a name: James Doyle, former El Paso resident who had relocated to the island a few years earlier. The man had prior arrests for possession and trafficking and had increasingly stepped up his game until this last, and hopefully final stint.

Steve had focused on Doyle's face, committing the features to memory, before turning his attention to the address listed under his name. Kakaako. The son of a bitch lived five minutes from the Palace. The odds of him taking Danny to his apartment were slim to none but the place was worth a check. Enlisting once again Junior as backup, the Five-0 leader had raced towards the new destination, hoping against hope that it would give them at least some answers.

Danny always joked that every time he wasn't around, Steve got himself into trouble. And that each phone call notifying him of said trouble had shaved a year off his already job-shortened life. Steve had never truly understood what that felt like until now. The guilt, the worry, the not knowing were eating at him, threatening his sanity.

A particularly loud rhythm brought him back to the present. He had to keep it together for the sake of his team and long enough to find Danny and bring him home. So he nodded at Junior and stepped forward.

The stale air smelled of dirt and decay, the only working bulb hanging from the ceiling providing them with just enough light to read the numbers on the dark, wooden doors. As they neared apartment 2F they both frowned, realizing that was where the incessant beat seemed to come from. An answer lied behind that closed door. Would it be good or bad news?

McGarrett positioned himself on one side, allowing Junior to move to the other. He held up his fingers.

1… 2… 3

Without hesitation, he took a step back and raised his foot, leveling a solid kick that connected just below the doorknob. The wooden frame splintered and the door sprung open.

"Five-0!"

They stood in the poorly furnished room for a few seconds, letting their eyes adjust to the dim light.

The sound, ricocheting off the aged walls, seemed —if possible— even louder, and Junior fought the urge to holster his weapon and cover his ears.

"The radio!"

He watched his superior's lips move but was unable to discern any words. "Can't hear you!"

"Find the damn radio!" Steve shouted again above the ear-splitting music.

His eyes slowly roamed across the room as he inched forward, gun at the ready, and finally located the device on the floor between a couch and a closed door. He wanted to shoot at it, blow it to splinters of metal and plastic, but feeling the weight of the Commander's stare on him he simply bent down and snatched the plug from its socket.

The silence that followed was so profound that they both felt like they'd gone deaf.

"Thank God," Steve said, releasing the breath he had been holding.

Gradually, as if a curtain had been lifted off the apartment, they became aware of their surroundings. The living room they were standing in was a small, messy area. Empty beer cans and takeout boxes littered the pavement, and drug supplies were scattered all across a small coffee table, signaling Doyle was a user other than a dealer. On the far corner of it was the kitchen, and they figured the door next to the couch where Junior had found the radio led to the bedroom.

Small noises that had been concealed before caught their attention.

Water dripping.

An angry exchange between two neighbors.

A soft whimper on the other side of the closed door.

Junior gave Steve a puzzled look. "Do you think…?"

McGarrett shook his head, adjusting the grip on his gun. "Five-0!" he called again. This time, his voice echoed loudly inside the apartment. "Doyle, if you're in there, I suggest you come out and put your hands where I can see them!" The man was too low on the food chain to be the leader of a multi-million-dollar operation, and that made him even more dangerous because he had nothing to lose.

No answer.

"You hear me?" he insisted, edging a little closer. "I'm not gonna ask you again!"

No sound.

The task-force leader let out a frustrated sigh. He looked at Junior, who nodded in understanding. "All right, we're coming in."

Carefully positioning himself next to the couch, he watched his hand slightly tremble as he raised it to unlock the door. If Jim Doyle was in there, they'd have him in a matter of seconds. And the son of a bitch would pay for what he'd done _._ In his mind, there was only one outcome, and it involved Danny safe from harm and the bastard dead. Nothing else mattered. No other possibility was considered.

Steve swallowed hard as the knob slowly began to twist under his touch, then in one swift move he threw the door open with such force it banged hard against the wall and stepped inside, Junior following right behind.

The room was as dirty as the rest of the apartment, furnished with a king-size bed, a dresser and a closet. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a slight movement.

"Five-0, don't move!"

Junior walked around the bed, finger ready to squeeze the trigger of his Glock, but didn't see anything. Frowning, he glanced at his superior who pointed to the small space under the bed. Sure it wasn't much, but apparently enough for someone to hide. He took a step back and tilted his head to try and catch a glimpse of their suspect while Steve reached out his hand to pull back the covers that were partially obscuring his view, tossing them aside.

"I'm counting to three," McGarrett bellowed. "You don't come out of there I swear to god you're never gonna see the light of day again!"

When nothing happened, Junior figured the guy had to be stupider then they'd given him credit for, because no one in their right mind messed with the Governor's task-force and stayed out of jail long enough to brag about it.

A few moments later the soft, whimpering sound returned and the two men exchanged a confused look. Something was definitely wrong with the picture. If Doyle was really hiding under the bed, he would've said or done something by now. Even high on drugs, it was unlikely that he'd cry and cower like that.

Then who?

Deciding that the whole thing had already been stretched too far, Steve carefully knelt down and peered under the bed. Junior held his breath, waiting for his reaction.

For one long second, silence engulfed the room. Then the Commander's eyes widened.

"Lower your weapon," he said, raking a hand through his short hair as he put his own gun back in its holster.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Junior reluctantly complied to his superior's order and squatted down to find the answer to his question. What he saw made his heart sink. A kid, not much older than five or six, eyes wide open with fear, curled into a tiny ball.

"This is Doyle's kid," Steve explained, remembering the information Jerry had pulled on their suspect back at HQ and letting out a long, low sigh. Adjusting his tall frame so he was laying almost flat on the floor, he stretched his arm and gently stroked the boy's hair.

"Please don't kill me…" came his soft voice.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Steve made eye contact with him and smiled reassuringly. "It's okay, kiddo. We're the police, we're here to help you. What's your name?"

Tears glistened in the boy's eyes, but he didn't let them fall. "Kevin."

"All right, Kevin, we're gonna get you out of here."

The frightened child didn't move.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," Steve said softly, his hand resting on the child's back. "I promise you."

"I'm scared."

"I know."

"Daddy and his friend said to play hide and seek but I didn't want to play anymore. I tried to call him, but he was listening to the radio and didn't hear me."

Steve's jaw clenched as he realized that Doyle had probably turned on the stereo to cover the child's cries. "Son of a bitch…" he whispered, glancing a Junior who had crouched on the other side of the bed.

Their heartfelt reassurances eventually paid off. Sensing that he could trust them, Kevin finally accepted the hand that had been offered to him and slowly came out of his hiding spot. Steve immediately picked him up and his heart clenched painfully as he felt the kid tremble in his arms.

"You hungry?"

The boy nodded.

"What would you like to eat?"

Kevin's lips curved into a small smile. "A cheeseburger."

"Is that right?" he replied, unable to suppress his own smile. "Well, I'm sure my friend Junior here can help you with that. And maybe even a shave ice, what do you say?"

The child nodded again and rested his head on Steve's shoulder.

Junior took out his cell phone and disappeared into the other room. When Steve joined him a short while later, Kevin still safe in his arms, all it took was one look at him to understand the bad news weren't over for the day.

"Nothing from the traffic cameras," the young SEAL admitted apologetically. "They must've switched cars along the way. HPD found Detective Williams' phone and tac vest a few blocks from the scene. They're still processing it but so far there's no sign of Doyle or his accomplice anywhere."

Steve pressed a hand against his forehead as if that alone could keep his headache at bay. "So where is he?" he wondered with a voice that sounded too shaky to be his own.

"I have no idea, Sir," Junior replied. "I have no idea."

* * *

"Where is it? Huh? Where'd they take it?"

Detective Danny Williams blew out a heavy breath and closed his eyes, wincing at Doyle's angry tone. He tried to ignore the feeling of his own gun pressed into his back and forced down the panic that was growing inside him. How a routine search had turned into such a complete mess was still beyond him, and he was worried about the increasingly paranoid man who kept asking where the police had taken his drugs.

"This is stupid… so stupid… You think kidnapping a cop is gonna get you far? My team's already looking for me!" While he couldn't be sure Five-0 was actually hot on his heels, Danny knew Steve, and knew that enough time had passed for his doctor's appointment to be over, which meant his control freak of a partner had tried to call him the minute he'd stepped out of the hospital, and that repeated unanswered calls would set all kinds of alarm bells in the man's head. Steve was undoubtedly looking all over the island for him.

"Well, then you better move or all they're gonna find is your dead body floating in the ocean," Doyle snarled, pushing him forward.

The detective stumbled but kept his balance and continued to walk, trying to keep up with the man's ramblings. "All right, all right. Just don't do anything stupid."

"Shut up! You fucking pigs don't know shit about me!" He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and steered him to the left. "Oh, but you'll see," he added, his voice taking on an evil tone. "You'll see…"

Hoping for some kind of diversion that would allow him either to reach for his spare gun or turn around and tackle the man, Danny looked down at his feet and focused on getting wherever Doyle was taking him alive.

* * *

The late morning sun was weak, its pale light further obscured by thick, black clouds that settled an eerie heaviness over the city. A steady drizzle had been falling incessantly for hours, making everything damp and gloomy.

Steve stared out the window of his Silverado, his eyes fixed on the blonde paramedic that was lowering Kevin onto a stretcher. He couldn't hear her words, but from the smile on her face and her kind gestures he knew she was trying to soothe the child as best as she could. Jerry had easily located his mother, a 26-year old waitress who had already seen the inside of a prison too many times in her short life, and she was going to meet them at Queen's.

The ex-SEAL had always had a soft spot for kids, especially on the job, and couldn't help wondering where Kevin would be now if he had been born out of parents with no criminal record.

You just don't mess with children.

That was one of the basic rules he and his partner agreed on.

His partner… Steve felt the painful twinge in his heart as his thoughts went back to Danny. He wouldn't let anything happen to him. Not this time. He was going to make sure his best friend got out of this unharmed if it was the last thing he ever did.

The ambulance streaked past him, lights flashing. A few seconds later, Junior opened the door of the passenger side and climbed in.

"You call the hospital?"

"Yeah," the younger man replied. "They removed the bullet. Grover's gonna be all right."

Steve nodded and exhaled loudly. Finally some good news.

The two men exchanged a meaningful look and were both silent for a long moment before the ring of a cell phone brought them back to attention. Steve pressed the device to his ear and listened intently. When the call ended, he put both hands on the steering wheel and lowered his head, eyes closed.

Junior was quick to notice the man's distress. "Sir?"

"We gotta go."

"Where?"

"Kuhio Beach. There's a body they need us to identify."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, favorites and follows. I know it's hard to understand where the story's going after only one chapter so I appreciate the support. And to Stephanie, who left me a really nice review – I can't PM you, but you made my day!

Here's the second part. Figured since there's no new episode tonight I'd post this instead and give you guys something to focus on. It's quite long, and explains what happened to Danny and how things unfolded.

Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you do – or even if you don't.

* * *

Steve McGarrett had seen bad things in his life.

He'd seen blood, death and evil so many times he had lost count, but the thought of having to identify his partner's body was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His world-famous compartmentalizing skills had failed him big time during the drive downtown, and his legs had almost given out as he approached the scene.

Thankfully, the John Doe that had washed up on the beach was not Danny, and they'd all breathed a collective sigh, agreeing to go back to the Palace and regroup. Unbeknownst to the rest of his team, he'd made a beeline for the men's bathroom and promptly thrown up what little he'd eaten that morning and the night before.

Fate was taunting him, hitting him with one shot after another. He honestly wasn't sure how much more he could take, but knew with clear certainty that he would not be able to survive without Danny.

They needed a break in the case.

They needed good news.

Standing by the sink, both hands firmly gripping its edges as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, Steve sent a silent prayer that just this once, things would go the right way.

And Fate laughed at him.

* * *

"Where is he?"

"He showed up at a free clinic in Kapahulu with a gunshot wound to his thigh half an hour ago. They're keeping him under light sedation until we get there."

The break they'd been waiting for, the news that could led to Danny's rescue, had finally materialized on one of the big screens of the main room. While Steve would've needed the experience and reassuring presence of a man like Chin Ho Kelly on a case like this, he had to acknowledge that his team had worked nonstop to find a clue, well aware that if anything happened to Detective Williams, they would lose two men instead of one.

Lou had ignored all medical advices and signed out AMA just hours after being admitted to the hospital and having the bullet removed, insisting that for a tough Chicago cop like him it was just a scratch and that he could sit on a chair at HQ and be just as fine as he would be lying on a bed. Tani and Junior, despite being new to the team, had fit in extremely well and were proving to be just the right people for the job. And Jerry… Steve had never seen the man's fingers fly so fast on the virtual keyboard.

The group effort had also involved the crime lab, with Danny's nephew Eric taking a leading role. They'd analyzed the prints and the blood found at the scene, dropping everything else and giving the case top priority, until they'd matched it with a local dealer who had recently escaped parole. Cross-referencing the name with all medical care facilities in a ten-block radius of the crime scene had brought the final piece of the puzzle: Bobby Kaleo, a 25-year old living on a trailer park near Ewa Beach, had showed up at the Island Urgent Care Clinic for treatment. Not his brightest idea, as medical personnel is required by law to report gunshot wounds, but criminals aren't always the brightest crayons in the box and Five-0 was grateful for the small miracle.

Tani had rushed to the restroom to give him the good news, her voice and features holding out hope that this would all be a distant memory soon. And Steve had never been more thankful to be surrounded by such loyal, caring people.

He would tell Danny all about it, how they hadn't stopped looking for him. Not once. Not for a second. Because Danny was the heart of the team, and even if they didn't always show it to him, they were all grateful to have him in their lives.

"Alright, let's go talk to him," McGarrett instructed. He started to turn around but stopped and looked back at his team, a faint smile on his face. "Good job, everyone."

* * *

Danny had had enough.

He was cranky and frustrated, and fighting the urge to talk back and tell Doyle exactly what he thought about him and his stupid plan every time the man opened his mouth. The whole situation had dragged on too long, and he was itching to put an end to it. Whether he'd do it on his own or with the help of his teammates remained yet to be seen.

Every minute that passed would bring Five-0 one step closer to finding him. Of that, Danny had no doubt. He just needed to stay alive until that happened.

During the last few hours, he'd learned that Doyle's accomplice had fled the scene and gone MIA and that their boss, or whoever they reported to, was not pleased that they'd lost the drugs. He had heard his captor apologize profusely over the phone and promise that he would take care of everything, and wondered if disposing of his dead body was one of the tasks included in the 'everything' part.

The Jersey detective wasn't sure what the rest of Doyle's plan included, but their current hideout at the pier and years of experience told him that he was most likely waiting for instructions on how to proceed. The son of a bitch was proving to be more clever than he'd given him credit for and was covering their tracks pretty well. Still, Danny's faith in his friends never wavered. Each and every one of them would move heaven and earth to get him back to safety. Bonded by an invisible thread, every member of the Five-0 family wouldn't blink twice before willingly putting themselves into a dangerous situation if it meant saving one of their own. Chin and Kono had proven that on many occasions, and the new additions had followed into their predecessors' footsteps as if they'd always belonged there. Steve sure knew how to pick the right people for the job.

Steve, who had hijacked Danny's life eight years ago and turned it upside down. Who had given him a reason other than Grace to call Hawaii home. Who was now such an integral part of his life that he could not even fathom a future in which they weren't side by side, being it on the job, as business partners or just sitting by the ocean. Steve would give his life for Danny in a heartbeat, and the radiation poisoning he was suffering from was proof of that.

His partner, brother, best friend. The stubborn, irritating, self-sacrificing Neanderthal who was undoubtedly out there, wracking himself with guilt, desperate to find him.

Hands zip-tied behind his back, Danny let a small chuckle escape his lips. He really should've learned a few of his partner's ninja tricks over the years. Steve would've incapacitated the man in seconds without even breaking a sweat.

Beside him, Doyle stared at his cell phone as if willing it to ring. A thin film of sweat was sheathing his forehead, and his fingers twitched over the gun still clutched in his hand. He was getting more antsy and displeased by the second, and nervous men were prone to make mistakes. Mistakes that could get themselves killed or cost innocent lives.

Danny Williams had found himself in much more dangerous situations. But as he sat on a stack of crates in the commercial building, watching the guy's every move, he was unable to shake off the feeling of dread that knotted his stomach.

And when his eyes caught movement outside and he recognized his partner's silhouette inching closer to the entrance, he couldn't help the shiver that raced down his spine.

* * *

They had him.

It had taken quite a bit of persuasion, but Bobby Kaleo had eventually cracked under the icy stare of Commander McGarrett and told them what they needed to know, including where they were supposed to meet if things went wrong.

Reinvigorated by the new lead and the prospect of stopping Doyle's plan before it went any further, Steve strode out of the clinic and towards the grey Silverado parked haphazardly near the entrance that no one had dared ask him to move. Still wearing his full combat gear — tac vest, thigh holster and gloves, he wasted no time climbing into the driver's seat and turning on the ignition.

Four and a half hours had passed. 270 minutes since his partner had been taken. 16.200 seconds of running himself ragged with fear and uncertainty.

Hands firmly gripping the wheel, right foot itching to press the accelerator, Steve barely allowed Junior to get into the passenger's seat before peeling off the asphalt in the direction of the pier.

 _Hold on, Danny, I'm coming._

* * *

"Jerry, find everything you can about 'Pacific Shipyards'. My guess is it's a front for money laundering and drug distribution. Notify HPD that we're headed to the location and ask for backup. Depending on what we're gonna find in there, we might need their help."

"Copy that, Commander. Be safe."

Steve glanced at the younger SEAL as he listened to Jerry's words. While he had no intention of willingly putting his and Junior's life at risk, he also knew he would do whatever was necessary to get Danny back.

One way or another, this whole mess was going to end soon.

And if luck was on their side they would wrap the case up, call it a day and go out for beers to forget all about it.

* * *

"Sir, over here. I got eyes on Detective Williams."

Junior's voice cut through the ear comm device and stopped Steve short in his tracks.

He had decided not to rush in with lights and sirens hoping that their silent approach and ninja skills, as Danny called them, would give them the chance to get as close as possible to plan the extraction. Thermal imaging had confirmed five people inside the warehouse: three on the first floor and two on the north side of the ground floor so the two ex-SEALs had decided to split up and inspect the perimeter.

"Is he okay?" he asked, swallowing the lump in his throat that barely allowed him to let the words out.

"Looks like it, Sir."

"Hold your position and look sharp. I'll complete the recon and meet you there."

"Roger that. Be advised access point on this side is clear."

The Five-0 leader nodded and released a breath. With Junior, it was easy to switch back to military mode. The kid had had his same training. He didn't need explanations, knew what Steve was thinking before he even voiced it and was familiar with how he operated. The decision to offer him a job with the task-force had proved to be a good one. So far.

Droplets of rain kept trailing along his face as he moved, and he blinked to clear his vision. The initial rush of adrenaline that had driven him to the location was now slowly ebbing, replaced by emotions he didn't quite know how to deal with. Something akin to… fear? was slipping once again along the cracks of the wall he'd so carefully built to distance himself from anything that might cause him pain. Because if you allowed yourself to care, to love, you made yourself vulnerable, and vulnerability led to fear, to that core-shaking feeling Steve McGarrett had only experienced a handful of times in his life and that he wished never to go through again.

Danny was okay.

The relief he'd felt at that was enormous. His partner had held his own. Now it was up to him to finish the job.

Burying all those emotions down, deep down where they wouldn't hurt, Steve wiped the water dripping down his forehead and resumed his inspection. The pier was uncharacteristically quiet, Mother Nature's tantrums and the upcoming weekend slowing down most of its usual activities. Nothing seemed out of place. No gun-wielding perps guarding the entrances, no suspicious movements to report. From the outside, everything looked as normal as it should. And the irony of it was, the same thing could be said for the Five-0 Commander.

* * *

The moment their eyes met through the dirty glass of a side window, a wave of calmness washed over Steve.

In the few seconds it took to realize that his best friend was really there —alive and relatively unharmed, everything shifted back into place and Navy SEAL McGarrett, the man with the laser-focus gaze and no fear gene, immediately took over.

Danny was sitting on a wooden crate, hands tied behind his back. After reassuring him that he was okay, the blond detective took advantage of their unique ability to talk without words to let his partner know that Doyle was the only bad guy around, at least on that floor, and that whenever he wanted to break in, he was ready.

Steve, careful not to alert Doyle of his presence, replied that he was moving in with another team member, and that each would enter from a different side to converge on his position.

' _I'm gonna get you out of here.'_

' _I know. Be careful.'_

' _Always.'_

After stealing one last glance inside the warehouse, the Five-0 leader instructed his younger recruit to take the back door while he went in from the front. HPD would be there shortly, but he hoped to neutralize Doyle and have the situation under control before they arrived. Two ex-Navy SEALs against a low-grade drug dealer and possibly a few other gunmen. Sounded like a walk in the park.

Rifle at the ready, he looked left and right once again before moving towards the entrance of the building. Once inside, he would have the tactical advantage of not being immediately seen, and was counting on Danny to distract their suspect if necessary.

His heart thumped as he opened the door and peered in. Doyle was standing approximately 20 feet from him, one hand on his hip, the other nervously curled around what he assumed was Danny's gun. Eyes wild, he kept going back and forth and muttering to himself, stopping every couple of steps to point the weapon at his handcuffed partner who was still sitting where he'd last spotted him.

Steve hid behind a stack of crates, his gaze roaming around the main loading area of the warehouse and the metal catwalk leading up to the first floor. In his military and law enforcement career he had chased all kinds of criminals and knew that a cornered, paranoid man could present a bigger challenge than a cold-blooded, calculating killer. He needed to be careful in his approach, or the situation could get out of hand.

"…He thinks he's this big shot, hiding behind his money and all, but I do all the work! Me! And now he's treating me like I'm nothing!" As he got closer, McGarrett started to hear bits of the one-sided conversation. "Just wait, he says. I'll take care of it. And what, am I supposed to just sit here with a fucking cop waiting for the whole cavalry to show up?"

"He's playing you, you know." Danny's voice cut through the man's ramblings. Knowing his partner was there, feeling his presence inside the building had renewed his resolve, and he could no longer contain his frustration. "He's setting you up."

"Shut up!" Doyle snapped, pressing the HKP30's barrel against the detective's neck.

Steve winced as if he could feel the cold metal against his own skin.

"How long's it been, huh?" Danny stared defiantly at him and pressed on. "No one is coming. You kidnap a cop, shoot another one and what, you expect to waltz out of here? And let's not forget the shitload of drugs we found in your possession. He's not going down. You are." As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he'd gone too far, and braced himself as he watched his captor's fist raise and registered the pain in his jaw.

"I said shut the hell up!"

The sudden outburst prompted Steve to come out of his hiding place and reveal his presence. "Five-0! Drop your weapon and put your hands behind your head!"

Doyle jumped, startled by the unexpected presence, but was quick to recover. Grabbing Danny by the collar of his shirt, he forced him to his feet and hooked his arm around the detective's neck, effectively positioning him between himself and Steve's assault rifle. "Back off! Don't come any closer or I'll shoot him!" he yelled, pointing the gun at his captive's head to further prove his point.

Danny gasped, the muscles in his throats twitching for air, but tried to remain as still as possible.

 _Shit_ , Steve muttered, realizing he was using his friend as a shield.

"Give it up, Doyle. It's over!" The strength in his voice surprised him, a stark contrast to the fear growing inside of him that was making every little hair on his body stand on edge.

"It's not over until I say so!"

Steve held out one hand in front of his body in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. "Listen… Listen!" he said, making eye contact with Danny and trying his best to reassure him. "HPD's gonna be here soon. We know you're not the one in charge so if you tell us who you work for, we can cut you a deal."

Five-0 already had all the information they needed, but McGarrett figured since Doyle wasn't aware of that he could try and reason with him or distract him just enough to take a shot. As he spoke, he noticed Junior approaching directly across from him and continued to keep Doyle's attention so his teammate could get closer.

"Think about it. Think about your kid. You wanna see him grow up you put the gun down and let my partner go."

At the mention of his son, Doyle become even more enraged. "What do you know about my son? Where is he?" he yelled, increasing the pressure around Danny's throat and eliciting a strangled grunt of pain.

"He's safe!" Steve replied, eyes widening in fear at his partner's discomfort. "He's alright. We can take you to see him," he lied, keeping tracks of Junior's movements but not daring to look at him directly in fear of giving him away.

Doyle eased the pressure off Danny's neck as he seemed to consider the option for a second, and the Jersey detective visibly relaxed, finally able to draw in the air that he needed. But the relief was only momentary.

"You're lying," he stated through gritted teeth. "You all lie. And I'm sick and tired of it!"

Steve's eyes searched Danny's again.

' _Get ready.'_

' _I'm ready.'_

' _I'm gonna need a diversion.'_

' _You got it.'_

He gripped his weapon with both hands, ready to fire.

When lives are on the line, split-second decisions are all you can rely on. But sometimes Fate runs interference, selecting a different outcome for the plans our minds carefully craft. A discarded object on the floor can disrupt a young man's efforts to remain unnoticed and a sudden, uncontrolled movement can alter the course of a bullet and make a difference between life, death and…pain.

A bullet that would've hit its target with the utmost precision had Doyle not shifted to the right, turning around at the sudden noise behind him and putting Danny directly in the line of fire just as Steve's finger squeezed the trigger.

The ex-SEAL's eyes grew wide as he realized where his perfectly calculated shot would hit and a desperate yet futile warning tore from his throat. The devastation he had felt months before when he thought he'd accidentally shot an HPD officer was nothing compared to the gut-wrenching feeling that stole his breath and stilled his heart as he saw Danny's body jerk backwards and fall to the ground, a mix of shock and bewilderment on his face.

With one last shred of lucidity Steve fired a second shot, this time hitting his target dead center on the forehead.

Then his whole world crumbled.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

* * *

A/N: Thank you so very much for the positive response to this story. Angst is not for everyone so I'm especially grateful that you all seem to enjoy what I'm writing. Your reviews are a great motivation to keep going!

This said, here's part three. This is how I imagined the aftermath of the shooting and Steve's reaction to it. Hope you find it believable and true to character, I'd love to read your thoughts about it.

* * *

Danny could smell the ocean.

As he lay on the cold pavement, shivering from the blood loss, he thought there was at least one positive side to him dying so close to the water.

Eyes closed, he tried to focus past the ringing in his ears and the burning in his shoulder, to listen to what was happening outside his pain-filled reality because they had perps to catch and he needed to get up and help but he felt frozen to the ground, incapable of any movement. His breathing was coming out in short, labored gasps and he could feel blood, hot blood pouring down his shirt.

 _Man, it hurts…_

He had been shot before, several times. It came with the job, and he had accepted the risks years ago. This time, it felt different. The foreboding sensation that had accompanied him over the last few hours had led to this very moment, a fleeting instant that would forever change both his and his partner's life. The moment Steve had pulled the trigger, and he'd taken the hit.

They were ready.

Doyle was about to go down.

Danny was supposed to either head butt the son of a bitch or duck so Steve could take him down. They'd rehearsed it before, used the trick to get out of a few other screwed-up situations, their ability to move in sync like a well-oiled machine always working on their side.

Until Fate had made them pawns of its sick game.

A movement coming from behind had startled them all, prompting Doyle to turn towards its source just as Steve discharged his weapon. Danny had stared into his friend's terrified eyes as the grip around his neck tightened and his body was forced to follow along the other man's movement into the bullet's path. And as the unmistakable sound of a shot being fired had filled the air, he'd braced himself for the inevitable fall he thought would follow as his crazy-ass partner's deadly aim took Doyle out of commission.

But that never happened.

He remembered Steve calling out his name, and marveling at the fear lacing his voice. Then came the impact, the searing heat in his right shoulder, and the shock that flooded him as his body twisted in response. He'd felt his legs give out and the air blow out of his lungs. Mouth agape with disbelief, he had fallen to the ground as if in slow motion. And then it hit him. The pain. Like someone had stuck him with a hot poker and was holding it there, twisting it over and over.

 _I've been shot_

 _I've been fucking shot_

 _Steve shot me…_

Danny had closed his eyes then, willing the thought out, and focused back on the reassuring smell of the ocean.

* * *

They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes.

But sometimes dying is not just physical, and as the mind tricks itself into shutting down every basic function, images and memories elude its control and come up to the surface.

' _Do the job. Now! Do the job!'_

' _My job is not leaving anybody behind!'_

' _You won't. Look at me, I'm not going anywhere. Don't let this be for nothing.'_

The instant the bullet had torn into Danny, something inside Steve had broken, irreparably changing the man he'd been right until then and reshaping him into a colder, hollow version of it. And with a sick, twisted irony, his muddled brain had taken him back to the day he'd lost another brother, to that camp in North Korea where he had witnessed another body get riddled with bullets.

Only this time it was a hundred times worse. Freddie had been wounded by the enemy, and he'd only been guilty of abandoning him.

But Danny… This was the mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

' _Steven, I need you to do something for me. All right? Listen to me.'_

' _No, no, no, no, no…_ _What are you talking about, man?'_

' _Listen to me! One day… tell my daughter… you tell my daughter that daddy loved her. Promise me. Promise me!'_

' _I promise. All right, I promise.'_

' _Now go. Hooyah, brother.'_

Lips parted in wordless surprise, rifle hanging loosely from its strap, he doubled over as if a knife had been embedded in his gut, cutting off his abilities to breathe, reason, move.

"Danny…" The desperate plea was barely louder than a whisper, too low to be heard over the drum-loud thud of his heart and the blood pounding in his ears.

 _This is not happening…_

 _Not again…_

"Commander McGarrett?"

Junior came running out of his hiding spot, panting in quick, shallow breaths, eyes darting worriedly between Danny's still form and Steve's pale, sweaty skin. Eyes glazed over, his boss didn't seem to even acknowledge his presence, lost in a world of devastation and self-loathing that was rooting him to the spot. He had never seen such a stricken, panicked look on anyone before, especially someone as strong and confident as the Five-0 leader, and it crushed him to have been the one causing it.

"Commander…" he tried again, moving closer.

He had screwed up. Big time. If his Master Chief could see him now, he'd rip him a new one. And rightfully so. He had broken one of the basic rules of any operation and revealed his position to the enemy, triggering a chain of events that had ended with Detective Williams falling victim to friendly fire.

He would take the blame and accept whatever punishment they deemed appropriate but right now a man's life was hanging in the balance, and it was up to them to save him. He needed to get through Commander McGarrett, and he needed to do it fast.

Holstering his weapon, he dropped to his knees beside Danny and tried to assess his condition. A steady flow of blood was coming out of a wound just below his collarbone, and Junior's eyes widened in panic at the realization of what might've caused it.

"McGarrett! I need your help! NOW!" he called out as he used both hands to apply pressure.

Steve was still frozen in disbelief, unable to process what had just happened.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move…

 _Insert, snatch up Anton Hesse, exfil the area…_

 _Insert, execute Doyle, secure Danny…_

Memories of old and recent past kept mixing in his head for what felt like an eternity but was in reality only a few seconds of time. Two brothers, two fathers, two of the most important people in his life had been put in danger because of decisions he'd made. There was no way he was ever going to forgive himself.

A voice suddenly cut through the haze, the urgency in it jolting him out of his trance. He looked around with wild, unfocused eyes until his gaze came to rest on… Junior, crouched next to Danny, both hands on his friend's chest.

 _Junior…_

"Don't touch him!" The words flew out of Steve's mouth before his conscious brain could stop them. Discarding the rifle on a crate nearby as if the thought of holding that weapon even a minute longer repulsed him, he stepped over Doyle's dead body without giving it a second glance and rushed to his partner's side.

"I said do NOT touch him!" His voice was cold and emotionless, his eyes mean. Junior had screwed up. And his mistake had gotten Danny shot. "Step away from him," he ordered in his best commanding tone.

If Junior was surprised or hurt by the outburst, he didn't show it. "Sir," he tried. "I'm keeping pressure on the wound. I don't think it's a good idea…"

Sirens could be heard outside the warehouse. Their backup had arrived. Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the burn of tears as he kneeled next to his unconscious friend and took in the damage.

 _Blood… so much blood… blood all over…_

 _Oh, God…_

Junior hadn't messed up. He had.

"I'll take over," he blurted out. "Go get the paramedics."

The young man reluctantly eased his hands off the detective's shoulder and got to his feet. "I', uh… I'm sorry, sir. I'm really sorry."

Steve didn't answer him and leaped into action instead, pressing his own hands firmly over the wound.

 _Assess the wound_

 _Apply pressure_

As long as he had tasks to perform, he had a purpose. And if he had a purpose, he could focus all his attention on it and ignore everything else.

"Danny? Danny, can you hear me?" A stream of bright red blood flowed steadily from the bullet hole, spraying his vest, his arms, pooling all around them. And Danny was pale… so pale…

 _Keep pressure_

 _Stop the bleeding_

"Danny? Talk to me, buddy…" Calling all his military first aid training and experience in the field, Steve tried to locate the source of the bleeding and pressed even harder, eliciting a moan of surprise and pain from his friend and rousing him from his trauma-induced sleep. "Hey… hey, you with me?"

Pale blue eyes opened and blinked rapidly as Danny slowly rolled his head towards the voice and tried to focus on the blurred image above of him, groaning weakly. His breaths were painful and terribly short, and even the basic task of keeping his eyes open felt like a challenge. But what he would remember for the rest of his life was the horrifying feeling of his own blood pouring out of his body.

"St-Steve?"

"It's me, buddy. You're alright. I got you, it's alright."

Danny didn't want to die. Not today. Not here, on this unwelcoming ground. Not at the hands of his partner. It was just so unfair… Dying in itself didn't scare him. What did was the thought of simply ceasing to exist, of Death shutting off the light of his existence and him being swallowed by blackness, disappearing into nothingness.

His mouth was thick, as if stuffed with cotton wool. He stirred slightly, moaning softly as a shiver coursed through his body. "H-hurts…"

What was left of Steve's heart shattered into a million pieces. "I know it does, I know it does…" He could feel his partner trembling in pain, and the frightening amount of blood oozing out of the wound with every heartbeat meant the bullet had most likely nicked an artery. Muscles straining under the effort of keeping a steady pressure, he tried to reassure him as best as he could. "Danny? Look at me. You're going to be alright, you hear me?"

 _Please hold on_

 _Please don't die_

Danny sucked in a breath and fixed his bleary gaze on the blood seeping through Steve's fingers. Everything was red. His shirt, his friend's hands. Too much red. "'s— bad, isn't it?"

Steve lowered his head, the tears he couldn't stop flowing freely down his cheeks, mixing with the blood. "I'm sorry, man…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry…" He wished he could turn back time, change history, take his place. Anything that would spare him the agony of having to live through this terrible moment, witnessing the pain he was causing, feeling the life flowing out of his friend's body. "Where are the damn paramedics?" he shouted in frustration, his voice echoing loudly inside the now silent warehouse.

"'nough with… an-an'rysm f-face," Danny slurred softly. His vision had started to blur, and he knew he was going to pass out soon. But before he did, there was something he needed to say. Trying to breathe through the pain, he flapped weakly at Steve's hands. "'s okay."

 _No, it's not._

 _Not even close._

Bright, red blood was still gushing between his fingers, spreading into Danny's white shirt and quickly darkening into a brownish hue, and he could feel the broken bone shift under his touch, its edges grating against each other. Everything was _not_ okay. Steve pressed harder, his panic mounting with every second. "Hold still, buddy, I gotta stop this bleeding."

"N-not 'ur fault…"

The ex-SEAL bit down hard on his lips and looked up, closing his eyes in a futile attempt to stop more tears from spilling over. "Yes, it is. I'm so sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I didn't—I thought I had the shot."

Vision graying at the edges, Danny reached out his hand and wrapped his fingers around Steve's wrists, his grip surprisingly strong as he tried to get through to his stubborn friend. "Not y-your f-fault, St-Steve," he repeated, staring straight into the other man's eyes. "A'ight?"

Steve shook his head. "Shhh… don't talk, save your strength…" Guilt had already wrapped itself around him, ravaging his soul, and no one was ever going to convince him otherwise.

Danny nodded. He was tired… so tired. Images of Grace and Charlie flashed in his mind and a sad smile appeared on his face. He loved them so much… "T-tell Grace 'n Ch-Charlie—"

Barely able to see through the tears, Steve realized his partner was fading fast and silently wished the damned paramedics would hurry the hell up. No amount of training could've ever prepared him for the soul-tearing hopelessness of seeing the life ebb from... wait, was that a _smile_ on Danny's face? _No, no, no, no_ … Danny was _not_ giving up! Cold fear rippled through his gut as he shook his head and leaned closer. "Don't— you hear me? You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine… Hang in there, help is almost here…"

Glassy eyes stared at him. "'sokay, Steve." The world was a blur of white and Danny couldn't tell what was going on around him anymore. He just wanted to sleep, give in to that pain-free oblivion that was luring him.

So he did.

He gave in.

Steve's panic flared again when his partner's lids closed. "Hey, no sleeping!" he urged, "Stay with me, buddy… you have to hold on a little longer, okay?"

But Danny didn't hear him. Head slumped to the side, he lost his battle and sank into unconsciousness.

"Danny? Danny! Don't do this… please don't do this…"

 _I'm sorry… I'm sorry…_

 _Please don't die…_

He heard a sharp intake of air behind him and turned to see Duke Lukela, hand on his mouth, a shocked look on his face. The seasoned Sergeant had witnessed several friends and fellow officers get hurt on the job and immediately recognized the seriousness of the situation, although the distraught look on the Commander's face told him there was much more to what he was seeing.

"What happened, Steve?"

Steve's arms were quivering in exertion and his heart seemed to be beating a thousand beats per second. "He's…he's bad, Duke," he breathed out. "I-I can't stop the blood…"

 _He's bleeding to death…_

 _Somebody please help me!_

"Paramedics are here," Lukela said, moving aside to let them through. When McGarrett didn't move, he put both hands on the other man's shoulders, gentle but firm, and helped him to his feet. "Come on, let them do their job."

"We got him, Commander," one of the EMTs reassured him. "We're going to take good care of him."

Steve heaved in a strangled breath. The smell of cordite and blood in the air was making him nauseous and he felt suddenly lightheaded, unsteady. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't take his eyes off his partner's still form as the paramedics tore his bloody shirt open and started to stabilize him for transport. Panting harshly, he watched with wide eyes as they checked his airways and breathing, flashed a penlight into his eyes, and applied a pressure dressing to the wound. "Come on, Danny, fight… you can do this…"

He tried to take a step forward but his legs felt like jelly, and it was only Duke's strong grip that saved him from falling to the ground.

"Steve, why don't you sit down?"

"I can't. I have to make sure…" his voice trailed off as he turned his head slightly, avoiding eye contact. "He can't die, Duke. I can't be responsible for this…"

The Sergeant's brow furrowed. His gut instinct had been right once again. "Steve? Tell me what happened."

McGarrett took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "Doyle was holding Danny hostage. He moved as I fired, put him in the line of fire." He told him straight on, like a soldier, his voice eerily calm as he dug his fingers into his palms until his own blood mixed with Danny's, the pain helping him focus.

Lukela's eyes widened. _Friendly fire?_ Of all the scenarios he had imagined, this was definitely the worst. As he searched his mind for something to say, two more paramedics rushed in. One of them took in Steve's bloodied appearance and stopped to check on him. "Sir, you need help?"

He shook his head. "No, it's… it's not my blood."

"Over here, guys! We need extra hands to stabilize him!"

The four emergency workers gathered around Danny's body, working with efficiency and practiced ease.

"What do we have?"

"Single GSW to the upper right shoulder with significant blood loss. Looks like it broke his collarbone and nicked the subclavian artery. Patient's in hypovolemic shock, BP's 80 over 40, pulse is weak and thready." The rest of their conversation was lost to Steve. He stood there, both mesmerized and immobilized by shock, knowing that he had to move or say something and understanding at the same time that those simple acts were currently beyond his control.

Duke stood at his side, the hand on his shoulder a comforting gesture and an anchor to hold on to.

A few minutes later, the EMTs had Danny stabilized and secured to a gurney, and were getting ready to transport him to the hospital.

"Commander, we're ready to go. Jeff, advise Queen's to get the trauma team ready."

Steve's hooded blue eyes fixed on the pool of blood staining the pavement. "Tripler. Take him to Tripler," he said flatly, only the bob of his Adam's apple giving his emotions away. "It's closer, and they know how to treat wounds like this."

The EMT nodded. "Let's go, we don't have much time. Davis, take the wheel. Kahele, you're with me." He turned to look at Steve as he hoisted one of the medical bags on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to ask you to meet us at the hospital. I need help monitoring Detective Williams' conditions, and I'm afraid there's not enough space for you in the back."

"I'll drive him," Lukela offered. "We'll be right behind."

For the first time in eight years, Steve didn't argue. He didn't fight, didn't complain. He just accepted it. His gaze faltered, dropping away as his arms went limp at his sides. It was probably better this way. He'd already caused Danny enough suffering.

He followed them out of the warehouse and into the rainy afternoon, ignoring the stares of the HPD officers standing by. "Hang in there, buddy… hang in there…" he whispered as they pushed the gurney into the waiting ambulance.

Junior watched the scene intently from a safe distance. He could see the emotions stirring beneath his superior's thin façade of calm. Fear, shock, pain, they were all there: in his eyes, the slight tremor of his lips, and the way he kept his arms crossed tight as if holding himself, keeping his hands from shaking. He wanted to reach out and offer support but knew it was not his place to do so, and hoped the other members of Five-0 could give McGarrett the strength he so desperately needed.

One of the paramedics hopped out and closed the doors. "See you there," he said as he slid into the driver's seat. Within seconds, the bus sped away, tires screeching over the slick asphalt, leaving Steve behind to stare after its taillights and flashers until they blurred out of focus, feeling like a piece of him had been ripped out and life as he knew it was no longer within his grasp.

Suddenly he was breathing all wrong, beginning to gasp like there wasn't enough oxygen in the air. Blood-stained, trembling fingers frantically reached for the vest, trying to unhook it. The damn thing was suffocating him. He needed to take it off.

Spots started to dance around his vision as his heart picked up speed again, throwing him into full panic, and the world began to spin.

Sounds that were near felt far away, like he was no longer there.

Danny was hurt.

He had shot him, and he couldn't breathe…

The scene replayed itself in vivid colors, all his fears spinning unchecked through his frazzled brain as his breathing became more rapid, more shallow.

 _Make it stop… please make it stop…_

 _God, Danny, I'm sorry…_

His knees buckled beneath him and he started to sink to the ground, his body dropping like a heavy stone.

Junior, who was still keeping an eye on him while helping HPD escort the three men they'd arrested on the first floor of the warehouse to their cruisers, noticed the distress on his boss' face, recognized the onset of a panic attack, and immediately got Duke's attention.

For the second time strong hands grabbed him, breaking the fall. In one quick move, the vest was unhooked and discarded and they lowered him to the ground so he could ride the attack out without serious consequences.

Steve McGarrett, the invincible SEAL, was not a machine after all.

He was all too human.

And he was falling apart.

"Sir? You're fine, Sir. You're safe…Take a deep breath, we're here to help." Perched on one knee, Junior was supporting Steve's weight with his own body while Lukela did his best to comfort him.

"Steve? Steve, it's alright. Breathe… it's alright…"

Head bowed, eyes tightly shut, Steve strained to inflate his lungs and focus on his friends' words, trying hard to push the image of Danny bleeding to death on a cold floor away and make his mind work just enough to get him to the hospital.

"Slow breaths, Sir… Nice and slow… In through your nose, out through the mouth."

Straightening up, he wrapped one arm around his chest and drew in a breath of air. The rush of oxygen felt good on his overexerted lungs, and the fog that had clouded his brain started to clear.

"I'm alright," he said after a few more breaths, trying to get up.

Duke was quick to stop his weak attempt at rising to his feet. "Stay still. Give it another minute."

Steve shook his head. "I'm alright… I'm okay," he repeated, knowing full well that he wasn't convincing anyone, least of all himself. So he took Lukela's advice and waited.

As the rushing in his ears gradually subsided and his heartbeat lowered to a normal rhythm, he lifted an arm that felt too heavy to be his own and wiped the mix of tears and rain from his face. "I'm sorry," he apologized, embarrassed for the public breakdown. He was supposed to be the strong one, the leader.

"No need, Sir. We all get it."

"Danny's a fighter, he's going to be alright," Duke added, the confidence in his voice warming Steve's heart. There was no judgement, only support in their eyes.

"Thanks," he whispered, grateful for the affection they were showing him despite what he'd done.

 _Danny's a fighter._

 _He's going to be alright._

If only he could believe that.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

* * *

A/N: Another Friday, another chapter… Still very happy you guys are liking the story, and still interested in hearing your opinion. I may or may not have started another project and if that is happening is because of you guys so thank you to each and every one who has favorited and reviewed so far.

I of course am not a medical professional so any mistake is entirely mine. I have researched to the best of my abilities to make things accurate but please allow some creative license. Also, Doctor Cornett is my favorite so he's the one I'm entrusting with Danny's care.

* * *

Lou Grover hurt.

A deep, throbbing ache had started in his injured shoulder and spread all the way to his limbs, head and chest. A physical pain, caused by his recent encounter with a 9mm, and a mental anguish for the events that had gathered Five-0 for yet another hospital vigil, waiting for news on one of their own.

Their hope for a quick and smooth rescue of their friend had turned into shocked bewilderment at the news that Danny had been injured by McGarrett's own weapon. Silence had fallen around the smart table as they'd listened to Duke urging them to meet him at Tripler because _'It's bad, brah, and Steve is a mess'_ , each of the three team members realizing the implications and repercussions of that fateful action.

The ex-SWAT Captain had bounced back from his fair share of incidents in his long career as a law enforcement officer but as he closed his eyes that gloomy afternoon, inhaling deeply to keep his headache at bay before following Tani out of the vehicle and heading inside the very hospital he'd just been discharged from, he wondered if the team would ever bounce back from this.

His legs felt heavy as they led him through the double doors of the emergency entrance, his pace slow against Rey's purposeful strides.

"Any news?" he asked as he spotted Duke at the admit desk talking to a uniform.

"No. They rushed him to surgery as soon as we got here." The Sergeant glanced at Tani, then back at Grover. "Doesn't look good. He's lost a lot of blood."

Lou sighed, the throb in his shoulder flaring up again in fiery bursts, reminder of a day he wished could be erased from history. "How's McGarrett?"

Lukela shook his head.

"Did he tell you what happened?"

The Hawaiian man dropped his gaze. "Hasn't said a word since we left the scene. From what little he told me back at the warehouse, Doyle moved Williams in the line of fire just as he pulled the trigger."

"Jesus Christ…" Lou whispered as he scrubbed a hand over his tired face. No wonder McGarrett was a mess.

"Where's Junior?" Tani interjected, her face a mask of apprehension and impatience.

"Upstairs."

He didn't have to add that 'upstairs' was the second floor's surgical waiting area. They'd all spent enough hours in there to be familiar with the military hospital's facilities. "Kid knows more than he's saying. You guys should talk to him."

The two Five-0 members nodded in unison. A second later, Tani excused herself and headed to the elevator, leaving the two men to stare at each other, not quite sure of what to say. "Lou…" Duke eventually broke the awkward silence, "I've known Steve since he was a kid but I've never seen him like this. If Williams doesn't make it…"

"Don't." Grover held up his good arm. "Let's not go there yet. Jersey's as stubborn as they come, he's not gonna go down without a fight."

Lukela agreed, seeing the same amount of fear and concern in the other man's eyes. John McGarrett's son was just as strong, and if Fate had decided to test him once again they would be there for him through it all.

He just hoped it would be enough.

* * *

"That how it went down?"

Lou couldn't help the surprise in his voice as he heard Junior's account of how the events had unfolded. Because after everything their friends had been through it seemed so… unfair and so unbelievably wrong that their lives would be altered by such a senseless twist. Beside him, Tani wore an equally shocked expression. Swallowing hard, she reached forward and wrapped her hand around the young man's forearm in what she hoped would be a comforting gesture.

"Yes, Sir. I accidentally tripped over a piece of metal on the ground and alerted the hostile. I take full responsibility for the events that led to Detective William's accident, and I'm prepared to accept whatever punishment I deserve," he finished, his gaze never faltering. The Navy had taught him well and he was a man of his word. He would shoulder his responsibilities and face the challenge. Wouldn't be the first time life threw him a curve ball after all.

"Easy, easy, kid," Grover replied. "No one's punishing anybody. We're just trying to get the facts straight." _Because the only other person who was there with Danny is in no shape to function_ , he wanted to add.

No one had seen McGarrett since he'd set foot in the hospital but Lou knew that he had to be close by in case the doctor came out with news on Danny so he left the kids, as he affectionately called them, with the promise to find him if they knew anything and went looking for him. And sure enough there he was, a lone figure sitting on the floor in a small alcove next to the janitor's closet, knees drawn up, one arm resting across them and the other hanging limply down to the side.

His eyes were open and staring straight ahead but he didn't appear to be aware of anything going on around him, lost in what Grover imagined was a world of self-deprecation and guilt.

As he inched closer, careful not to startle him, the older man's gaze fell on the object clutched in Steve's right hand and he felt his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. Danny's wallet, open to reveal a smiling picture of Grace and Charlie hugging each other. He stood still, trying to find the right words to ease at least part of his friend's pain and knowing at the same time that none would ever be appropriate or comforting enough to do that.

"Why don't I take that?" he eventually said with the softest voice he could muster. He unconsciously held his breath, waiting for a reaction or some kind of acknowledgement, and when the first minute passed without either he shifted nervously on his feet, debating whether or not he should push further or turn around and give the man some space.

Then Steve's hand uncurled.

Taking that small sign as a permission to stay, Lou slid his big frame down the cream-colored wall and slowly lowered himself to the floor next to him then reached across the space that separated them and took the wallet from his friend's hand, folding it and putting it in his shirt's front pocket.

The situation stirred memories of late night calls and early morning drives to McGarrett's place, of caffeine and sunrises on the lanai as they both shared stories from the past and kept each other's demons at bay. Steve had trusted him before, showed him his most vulnerable side, something not even Williams had been privy to, and Grover was determined to repay that trust as best as he could.

He leaned forward, ignoring his shoulder's protest at the movement, and laid a gentle hand on Steve's arm. "Hey. How are you holding up?" If it was any other moment, he would've laughed at the absurdity of his question. Steve was so far from being fine and holding things together that Lou feared if he allowed him to slide over the edge his friend would completely lose himself.

"Danny's a fighter. He'll pull through," he continued. "You hear me? He's going to be alright." He felt the ex-SEAL take a deep breath before finally turning his head to meet his gaze and wasn't prepared for the broken, agonized look that he saw etched across his features.

This couldn't be Steve McGarrett. This wrecked, hollowed-out man couldn't be the task force leader that put the fear of God in every criminal with just a stare. The person before him seemed to have lost all the will to survive, to fight, to… exist.

"Steve… Don't do this, man," he pleaded. "You know it's not your fault. Things like this just… happen. Sometimes they happen to the wrong people, but you guys are stronger than this. You have to believe that, or it's gonna drive you insane."

Steve shook his head and his posture stiffened. "Don't…" he growled. "Don't say it's not my fault. You weren't there, you don't know."

For a brief second, Lou saw a flicker of life behind that anger, a sign that the tough Commander was still in there somewhere, but just as quickly as it had come the moment passed and his friend's body deflated. The unstoppable SEAL, who had survived three bullets and a liver transplant, who wasn't giving his radiation poisoning diagnosis a second thought just closed his eyes, put his head down on his knees and tuned the rest of the world out.

Grover exhaustedly leaned his own head against the wall and waited.

McGarrett was a formidable man. Flawed as everyone else, but much more skilled at hiding those vulnerabilities. A man with the biggest heart of anyone Lou had ever met, who had lost so many people he cared about he put his life on the line every day, diving headfirst into danger, just to prevent anyone else from getting hurt. A strong warrior who still considered himself a liability and his own life expendable.

Someone who deserved so much better.

A nurse sped past them with a crash cart and the ex-SWAT leader instinctively stilled, saying a silent prayer for the poor soul whose life had taken a turn for the worse and hoping that Danny was still holding his own.

"I can't, Lou…" Steve whispered as soon as the woman disappeared from their sight, his voice so quiet that he almost missed it. "I can't be the guy who shoots his partner. I just—I can't be that guy…"

Lou Grover prided himself on being a tough man. Someone who had a strong grip on his emotions and rarely let them out. But in that moment, as he looked into his friend's haunted eyes and witnessed the anguish and the pain clouding the once clear, focused gaze, he wasn't ashamed to let his own tears fall.

"Steve," he tried. "You know Danny's not gonna blame you. None of us would."

"He should, man," came the detached, flat reply. "I messed up."

Grover sighed, a feeling of dejà-vu washing over him as he remembered the last time his friend had told him he'd messed up. That day it was a bench outside King's Hospital, and he'd fatally shot what he believed was an HPD officer. Lou had tried to reason with him, to no avail, and only the news that the guy was instead one of the robbers had appeased Steve's conscience.

This time their leader was shattering in front of everyone's eyes, and not even Danny coming out of surgery with flying colors would be enough to give him the peace of mind he so desperately needed.

"Listen man, you're right. I wasn't there, but from what I've been told by someone who was there's nothing you could've done. You couldn't have predicted this. You couldn't have foreseen the son of a bitch reacting to a damn noise. It's not on you. It was just bad luck."

A heartbroken laugh came out of Steve's mouth. "Bad luck…" He fixed Grover with a disbelieving gaze. "I'm your leader," he said, his voice quivering. "You guys have to trust me enough to follow me into situations where your lives are at risk. How can you do that when I'm the one who screws up?"

"Steve, listen to me. We've never doubted you or your abilities to get the job done. Never have, never will. You're a freaking superhero in everyone's eyes!" Lou said as he placed his hand on Steve's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. The other man tensed under his touch but he didn't let go. "What I'm trying to say here, man, is you're allowed to be human. This is one hell of a screwed-up situation and you have every right to be upset about it, just don't let it ruin your life. We're your family, man. We care about you, and it's killing us to see you like this."

Steve's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, shaking his head. "I failed him, Lou. I failed Danny. I failed you all." Then, as if a switch got flipped, his gaze moved to stare at the space in front of him and he withdrew into himself again.

Lou opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He knew there was nothing else he could do so he just sat there, offering a silent support until even that became too much and he knew it was time to leave.

"Alright, man, let me see if there's any news on Danny," he said as he eased himself up.

McGarrett didn't blink.

With one final glance at his friend's broken form, Lou turned around and walked away.

* * *

Everything was quiet.

The second floor waiting area, now completely empty and bathed in a soft, yellow light. The ICU corridor, smelling of antiseptic and lemon-scented cleaner. The nurse's desk, where a young woman in pink scrubs was busy updating patients' charts.

Everything was quiet except for Steve's heart drumming loudly in his chest, and the voice in his head taunting his sanity.

His friends had left hours before. Some of them as soon as the doctor had come out to inform everyone that Danny had survived surgery and that it would be touch and go for a while. Others, like Lou and Tani, had needed a tad more convincing but had eventually gone home to rest as well.

All had lined up to donate blood, prompted by the surgeon's listing of the number of units they'd had to transfuse and the ones Danny would require over the next day or so. Steve had asked too, knowing full well as he did that his request would be denied. ' _Transplant recipients should not donate blood_ ,' the doctor had replied. ' _The immunosuppressants you take could be harmful to the receiver_.'

Another blow striking his already weakened psyche. Danny had saved his life, given him half his liver, and he couldn't even try and repay him the favor after landing him in a hospital bed.

He had still been sitting on the cold linoleum floor, all sensation of time passing lost, when Doctor Cornett had come out of the OR. He remembered Grover shaking him out of his daze, and feeling like a dead man walking as his feet dragged him to where the rest of his ohana stood. A blue sea of HPD officers had parted as soon as he appeared, and he had struggled to maintain his composure as he felt their stares on him and heard their words of encouragement.

He didn't deserve any of those. Didn't they know he was the one to blame?

The sight of the doctor that had saved his life two years before, of his exhausted features and the blood covering his scrubs — _Danny's blood,_ had nearly shattered what little self-control Steve had left, and he'd crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to hold himself together and hide his shaking hands.

Guilt had swarmed through his heart and soul at Cornett's words, the seriousness of his best friend's condition clear from the very beginning. He had registered a few words before the buzzing in his ears had drowned all other sounds. _Broken collarbone. Nicked subclavian artery._ _40% Blood loss volume. Hypovolemic shock. Low pressure. Irregular heartbeat._

Someone had put a hand on his shoulder —maybe Lou, or Duke Lukela. He really couldn't tell.

' _Detective Williams is lucky to be alive, and we're gonna do everything we can to keep him that way. He's being transferred to the ICU now. You can see him once he's settled.'_

Of course the good doctor had assumed he wanted to see his partner as soon as possible. That was usually his first request, spoken in a no-nonsense voice that left no space for arguments. This time though, he'd wished the physician had appealed to the ward's strict protocol and told him to wait.

He desperately needed to see Danny. Touch him, tell him that he loved him and that he was sorry, but he was also terrified to face him, even if he knew he'd be unconscious. Terrified of seeing what his bullet had done, of not knowing if he would pull through, terrified that the last image his friend had seen had been a bullet coming out of his gun.

So he'd sat there, long after everyone else had left, unable to bring himself to move.

A nurse had brought him a stack of paperwork to fill as he waited, recognizing him as Danny's emergency contact, and Steve had almost welcomed the task, hoping it would give his mind something else to focus on.

Another had offered a cup of coffee. The good kind, not the burnt one from the vending machines. He'd given her a half smile and politely declined.

That had been an hour ago according to the clock on the wall.

It was now 2:15am, and weariness was beginning to seep into Steve's bones. It had been a long, dreadful day, started with a familiar argument and gone downhill from there, and he had no one else to blame but himself. With one single action, he'd managed to destroy the only relationship that meant anything to him, and the loss that came with that realization was unbearable.

Danny probably hated him now – that is, if he survived at all, and that meant he had just lost his best friend, his work partner, and the family the Jersey detective had allowed him to be part of.

He was alone again, an outcast for the rest of his days. He would never see Gracie and Charlie again, and even Five-0 wouldn't be the same despite the reassurances that the remaining members of his team would be always on his side.

His dark lashes brimmed with tears. He couldn't even imagine Five-0 without Danny, or someone else sitting in the passenger seat as he drove to a crime scene…

The bond they shared had been the one bridge out of the darkness he'd fallen into after Freddie and his father's death, allowing him to step out of the fortress he'd isolated himself into.

Danny had breached his defenses and taught him how to be human, making him a better person.

Now that bridge had been burned and no matter how many people surrounded him, Steve felt completely alone.

He sucked in a shuddery breath.

He didn't know what the future held for him. He could barely tolerate the present. But whatever path it led him, and before he picked up the pieces of what was left of his life, he needed to know that Danny would be okay. He could live with him being mad, resenting him for what he'd done, as long as his partner was granted a future and the chance to see his kids grow up.

So he had to go see him.

Even if it scared him more than any mission ever had.

Berating himself for being a coward and failing his friend all over again, Steve rubbed a hand over his face and finally rose to his feet.

His shoes made no sound on the pavement as he moved, and yet his heart was beating so fast and so loud it felt as if it would rip its way out of his chest.

Emotions were swirling inside him, feelings he didn't know how to deal with and wasn't able to lock down anymore.

His hand stilled below the 'Restricted Area' sign on the door leading to the intensive-care beds, the words in bold red lettering bringing back memories of crimson blood pouring out of Danny's wound. He jerked it away, recoiling at the sickening sensation of the warm, thick liquid seeping through his fingers. Despite numerous attempts at scrubbing it away, he could still see it in the lines on the back of his hands and underneath his fingernails. And as much as he tried to detach himself from those memories, he knew the stains would always be there.

The blood of a partner never comes off.

Steve looked away for a second then tried again, pushing the door open. A draft of air hit him and he lifted his head up to breathe it in, eyes closed, allowing himself a few more instants before resuming his slow walk towards Danny's bed.

When he reached the glass-enclosed cubicle at the end of the row he hesitated again, inhaling deeply to try and calm his racing heart. He couldn't remember feeling so vulnerable, so…helpless since he'd had to listen to his father's murder over the phone. And if that had almost broken him, this was shattering him now. Because this was Danny. Someone he had a real connection to.

His face faltered as he stepped inside and he choked up at the sight of his friend, unconsciously backing away.

The light above the bed illuminated Danny's face just enough for him to see that he looked exhausted and pale, his ghostly white skin matching the white bandage around his shoulder and chest and the sheets he was laying on. He had dark circles under his eyes and a multi-colored bruise on his hollowed-out cheek from where Doyle had struck. His jaw was slack, with the breathing tube taped to the right corner of his mouth. A central line was visible on the right side of his neck and multiple IVs were snaking out of his arms. Wires were attached to his chest and connected to the heart monitor that was beeping steady on the side of his bed.

 _God, Danny, what have I done?_

Steve committed the sight to memorythrough tear-filled eyes, vowing to make sure he'd never see it again. Inching closer on unsteady legs, he approached the side of the bed and grasped the rail as if the plastic support was the only thing keeping him upright.

A lone tear ran down his cheek.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered. If he had wires connected to his own heart, the beep of the monitor would've tripled in speed. "I know you hate me right now. And I don't blame you. My number one priority has always been to keep you safe, and… and I failed at that today. I failed big time." He slipped his hand under Danny's limp one and squeezed it gently. It felt cold, so he put his other hand on top of it, thumb sweeping back and forth over the clammy skin.

"But I need you to hold on. You hear me? I need you to fight. You fight for Charlie, for Gracie, you fight for all the people who love you."

 _You fight for me…_

Grabbing a chair, he pulled it closer and sat down next to the bed. "Please hang in there…"

Lulled by the rhythmic sound of the equipment monitoring Danny's vitals, Steve watched his friend's chest rise and fall as time gradually lost its meaning and he eventually fell into a restless sleep.

 _Hang in there, buddy_

 _Please don't die…_

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

* * *

A/N: You guys rock. Thank you so much everyone, I'm very happy that you like this story. I can't personally reply to the guests who left comments but man, you write the best reviews!

Standard medical disclaimer applies for this chapter. And just so you know, if you get to the end of this chapter thinking I am the cruelest person ever I promise this is going somewhere, and that despite being an angst lover I am fond of happy endings too.

* * *

 _The sound of the gunshot echoes around the warehouse._

 _Squinting his eyes in the semi-darkness, Steve watches Doyle fall to the ground with a heavy grunt. He moves closer, gun still trained on the sprawled form in front of him, only to realize in horror that it's Danny who's been hit._

" _Why'd you take the shot, man?" His friend asks as he struggles to breathe._

 _Steve drops to his knees. "I'm sorry, Danny. I thought I had him…" He tears his friend's shirt open and clamps both hands on the wound. "I thought I had him…"_

 _Danny coughs, and a few bubbles of blood appear on his lips. "I trusted you… You were supposed to have my back…"_

" _I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry. I'm gonna get you out of here, you're gonna be alright…" He picks him up, cradling the smaller frame protectively against his chest as he starts to make his way out of the building._

 _Glassy eyes stare accusingly at him. "It's too late…" And then just like that, Danny's gone, his body going limp in Steve's arms._

"Uncle Steve?"

Steve jumped at the light touch on his shoulder. He straightened up in his chair, eyes darting around for a moment before settling on the familiar figure standing at his side. "Gracie?"

"Are you okay? Were you having a nightmare?"

Touched by the girl's concern, he pushed the disturbing images that had been plaguing him since the accident to the back of his mind and got to his feet. "I'm alright, Gracie," he whispered, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her head. Having someone actually care about his well-being was still an alien concept to him, but Danny's daughter was just as smart and kind-hearted as her dad.

The thought of not being around to watch her grow into a beautiful young woman stirred a wash of emotions so intense it almost took his breath away. These people were the closest thing he had to a family besides Mary, and he couldn't bear to lose them.

"Any changes?" she asked, the hope in her voice cutting through Steve's heart like a knife. It had been 36 hours, and Danny's condition hadn't changed. The ventilator was still breathing for him and although some of the color had returned to his face and his status had been upgraded from critical to serious, he'd yet to regain consciousness.

Steve shook his head. "I'm sorry." He glanced at his wristwatch. 8:36am. Of a school day. "Does your mom know you're here?"

Grace averted her gaze. She walked up to Danny's bedside and started rubbing her father's arm, running her fingers up and down the skin just below the IV line. "I wanted to see him. Mom wouldn't take me so I took the bus as soon as she dropped me off at school.

Leaning over the plastic railing, she planted a kiss on the unconscious man's forehead. "Hi, daddy... I know that you need to heal and that you're probably not ready, but please wake up. Charlie and I need you…"

Steve backed away from the bed, feeling a pain in his chest as if someone was squeezing the air out of his lungs. He couldn't bear to watch this, couldn't stand to see the pain in Grace's eyes. He needed to get out of there…

"I wanna know what happened." The girl's voice stopped him in his tracks as he was about to leave.

 _Nonononono_

How was he supposed to tell her he'd screwed up?

Lou had been in charge of notifying Rachel after the shooting, and he wasn't sure how much the girl knew. "Gracie..."

"Please, Uncle Steve. People treat me like I'm still a baby but he's my dad. I deserve to know."

The determination in her eyes broke Steve's resolve. He wished someone had told him what was going on when he was her age and his father shipped him away without as much as a goodbye. He knew what it felt like to be lied to and wasn't about to do that to her. Danny's daughter deserved better. And he loved her too much to disappoint her.

So he told her everything, expecting a loud, passionate reaction that would've made her father proud. He deserved rage, hatred, pain. What came out of her mouth instead shook him to the core.

"It wasn't your fault, Uncle Steve." Grace took both his hands in hers and looked straight into his eyes. "I know how much you care about Danno, and I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt him. That man was holding him hostage and he could've killed him. You just did what you had to do."

 _And almost killed him myself…_

"It's not that simple…"

"It is to me." She wrapped her arms around him, her head on his chest. "You've always been there for us. I know you didn't mean to hurt him."

Steve barely held back the tears.

He wished he could believe her, wished her words would bring him comfort. Grace seemed to love him unconditionally, the kind of love he'd longed for but never experienced in his life. As he held her in his arms, he felt with absolute certainty that he would do anything for her.

Even if it meant never seeing her again.

* * *

Over the following two days, Steve found himself sitting in the same chair by the bed. Although completely worn out, he'd stubbornly refused to leave his friend's side other than to stretch his sore muscles, go to the bathroom or drive home for a quick shower and a change of clothes.

Friends had come and gone, making sure he had everything he needed and reminding him they were just a phone call away. Steve had thanked them, touched by the overwhelming support, but the guilt that was still folded around him made it impossible to accept help he didn't deserve.

He barely ate, his stomach churning at the mere thought of ingesting any kind of food.

At night, when the ward was silent and he was alone with his thoughts, sleep just refused to come. His mind wouldn't quiet down long enough to grant him some much-needed rest, the image of his best friend lying still in the warehouse haunting him every time he closed his eyes.

On the third day they'd weaned Danny off the ventilator, replacing the device with a nasal cannula. He had responded well, prompting Doctor Cornett to admit he was cautiously optimistic that he'd make a full recovery.

On the fourth day, they'd told Steve he was showing signs of waking up. Steve had smiled then, the first real smile since his nightmare had begun, the vise-like grip around his heart loosening ever so slightly.

On the fifth day, Steve left Danny's side to grab a cup of coffee. All those hours of neglecting every basic human necessity had taken their toll on him but he was still there, determined to be the first face his friend would see when he woke up. On the way to the cafeteria he called Lou, more to appease the older man than for his own good, and learned that Bobby Kaleo, the thug who had given them Doyle's location, had been grilled in the Blue Room for hours but knew nothing about who was calling the shots. Apparently they didn't trust him with anything but driving whoever needed it around.

Steve hadn't bothered to ask for updates on the case since the accident. That wasn't his main concern right now. As the head of Five-0, he knew he had a responsibility to the Governor, his team, and the people of Hawaii. But he just couldn't bring himself to focus, or care about anything that wasn't Danny and the grief eating him alive.

The phone call took longer than usual, Grover almost reluctant to let him go as if he'd sensed some kind of danger over the phone. Stepping back into the ICU, he noticed a nurse coming out of Danny's room, two vials of freshly-drawn blood in her hands.

A sense of dread rose within him and he felt his heart pick up speed. "Everything okay?"

She nodded. "Detective Williams is awake. Doctor's with him now."

Wide-eyed, he stared at her in confusion for a moment like his brain wasn't fast enough to take in the information he'd been given. Then a grin crept onto his face, quickly stretching into a full-blown smile. "He's awake?"

Leave it to Danny to wait for the exact moment he wasn't around.

The nurse nodded again, a weird expression on her face that Steve couldn't quite place, and disappeared towards the elevator. If he didn't know better, he could've sworn she was giving him a sorrowful, apologetic look.

Frowning, he approached his friend's cubicle, hesitating at the entrance as he took in the scene in front of him: Doctor Cornett was standing at the foot of the bed, his back to Steve, and Danny... Danny was awake: groggy, barely able to move, but alive.

And yet something felt wrong with the picture.

Even before he registered the fear in Danny's eyes and heard the cardiac monitor increase its speed, it was the doctor's voice that caught his attention.

"Detective, please calm down. Nerve damage is not uncommon after an injury like yours," he explained, speaking in a calm, clear manner.

Steve's heart missed a beat.

"Yes, it might result in neurological deficits but it's still too early to determine if it's permanent. Your body has been through a tremendous amount of stress but you're doing great and making progress." Pausing to make sure his patient was still following him, Doctor Cornett moved to the side of the bed to check Danny's vitals, still oblivious to Steve's presence. "You just woke up after a major trauma, so you need to relax and get some rest. We're going to give you something to make you more comfortable, okay? And we'll perform more tests later."

It took Steve all but three seconds to process the physician's words and their implications.

 _Danny couldn't move his arm_.

His breath got stuck in his throats and he paled, his hopes annihilated by the unexpected news.

 _He had ruined his best friend's life._

The phone he was holding slipped from his fingers, dropping to the ground with a small thud as he stood there, his face a picture of devastation and grief, until he felt the walls holding him up starting to collapse and blindly headed outside.

Nausea clawed at his throat as he dashed out of the hospital, his stomach contracting violently. He tried to force the bile down and made it all the way to the parking lot before he lurched forward and heaved until there was nothing but an empty pit in his gut.

After what seemed like an eternity he took a shuddering breath, wiped at his mouth and straightened up, moving on autopilot towards his vehicle.

His insides felt as if there was nothing there anymore: nothing to feel, nothing to say, nothing left but the black void that was enveloping him. His heart was still beating but his chest felt hollow. His eyes could still see but the world seemed so far away. Was it shock? He couldn't say. His mind was unwilling to think anymore.

Staggering on his feet, he unlocked the Silverado and climbed in, hastily closing the door as if it could isolate him from the rest of the sat with his forehead resting against the steering wheel, fingers wrapped so tight around it that his knuckles were white.

A sob ripped out of him and he ducked his head attempting to stifle it but it punched through, and with that first came many more. Ripping through muscles, bones and guts because the pain was too much, the desolation he felt too consuming.

Raw, salty tears fell from his eyes, drenching his shirt.

And he just broke down, right there in the parking lot of the busiest hospital in Honolulu.

* * *

Danny didn't remember much about the first time he'd woken up, except the fear that had gripped him when he realized he couldn't move his right arm.

Fear that was still there as he awoke again a short time later and gradually became aware of sounds and feelings, the lack of sensation coming from the still limb a stark contrast to the dull pain radiating through every other muscle in his body.

Eyes closed, he tried to ignore it and focused on the beeping in the background, on the slight pull of the IV line on the back of his good hand and the cool air under his nose.

His thoughts were fuzzy, no doubt courtesy of the drugs they had him on. Memories of sounds and images flashed in short bursts. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite grasp it. He felt weak, and even the task of parting his eyelids seemed tiring.

Pushing himself up the bed a little with his good arm, Danny couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips at the movement, alerting the man sitting next to him.

"Danny?"

He blinked a few times to clear his vision and turned his head to the left, spotting a blurry and yet familiar figure hunched in the chair by the bed. His throat was dry and still sore from the breathing tube and the raspy "Yeah…" that came out was the best he could muster.

Lou Grover got up and reached for the cup of ice on the bed stand, holding a spoonful to Danny's lips. "Better?" he asked as his friend sunk his head back into the pillow, his features visibly relaxing.

Danny nodded.

"How you feeling?"

He closed his eyes, took a long breath, then expelled it slowly and opened his eyes again. "Upset…confused…In pain. Y-you pick." He lowered his gaze, looking at his unmoving limb. "Can't move my arm…"

"I know, man." The ex-SWAT Captain looked positively devastated. He was leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and looking at him as if he was supposed to remember something important.

Danny's heartbeat increased slightly. For a brief moment, he had the distinct impression that something horrible had taken place, something he was missing, but he was too out of it to pinpoint what that was.

"How long?" he asked.

"Five days."

"Five days…" he repeated, feeling the exhaustion seep further and further into his bones despite having just woken up. He pressed his cheek to the pillow, trying to remember what had landed him into the Intensive Care Unit. A standoff. The smell of gunpowder and copper. His partner's face, fear in his eyes.

"Where's Steve?" Even on drugs and about to be lured back to sleep he recognized that Grover sitting there beside him was a bad sign.

Lou ducked his head for a moment, staring down at his hands as if looking for the right words. "He's… he'll be back. Don't you worry, man, you just get some rest."

Danny wanted to ask more but didn't have the strength to do it, so he nodded again as his eyes started to drift shut and was asleep within seconds, his heart slowing to a more peaceful beat.

Lou Grover watched his friend's breathing even out as he fell back to sleep and sighed. He hated lying to his friends but this time he'd had no choice. Danny wasn't ready. He reached into his shirt's pocket and took Steve's cellphone out, staring at the web of cracks marking the screen.

Williams was still struggling to remember but would demand answers soon enough, and he prayed he wouldn't be the one to tell him that McGarrett had pulled the trigger and was now MIA.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

A/N: Hello, everyone. I'm finding myself just as excited about Fridays as you are. I love the enthusiasm that comes with posting a new chapter and waiting for your comments to find out if you liked it. And speaking about reviews, a special shout-out to the guest who left me the longest review I have ever received. I loved it, thank you very much!

This said, enjoy the read. Steve hit rock bottom in last week's chapter, let's see if he's ready to get help and slowly get over the guilt that he's feeling.

* * *

When Steve was in fifth grade, his father had told him about a sunset phenomenon called the 'green flash'. On a cloudless evening, at the precise moment the sun disappears from view and sinks into the sea, a fleeting spot of intense green light can be seen in its wake.

Fascinated, young Steve had spent hours on the beach behind the house staring at the sunset and reading about how a process called dispersion was responsible for that spectacular sight, and how the sunlight is separated into different colors, just like what happens in the sky after the rain with rainbows.

Armed with his camera, he had tried to catch the green flash on film for weeks, but it always happened so quickly he never got lucky.

And just like all those years ago with that fleeting green light, the answers were eluding him now.

After the breakdown at Tripler, he'd aimlessly driven around for a few hours. Untethered, enraged, and completely lost, he had ended up at the only place on the island where he felt closest to Danny, the lookout on Diamond Head road. That spot always seemed to calm his friend down and he knew it meant a lot to Danny. It was the first place he had stopped when he'd first arrived on Oahu, and the one he turned to every time his life threatened to fall apart: Grace's custody battle, Charlie and his illness, Matty's death.

Watching the waves crash and the sun make its way toward the horizon had had a soothing effect on Steve too, numbing him to the point that he'd completely lost track of time. Minutes had melted into hours as his mind retreated into a safe place. A place where he was still whole, Danny was okay, and they were still a family.

McGarretts didn't suffer in company. They preferred their deepest pain in dark solitude. So he sat there, staring at the multicolored hues painting the evening sky and trying to make sense of a reality in which his best friend was no longer by his side, a reality that he himself had created but had no idea how to fit in.

' _Sometimes it feels like this job of mine has taken everything good from me, and I'm really starting to wonder whether any of it is worth it.'_

The confession he'd made two years before rang in his ears.

It was true. The job had finally taken everything from him. His friends, his health, his sanity.

And no, it wasn't worth it.

* * *

Adam Noshimuri was in a bad place.

Ever since he had returned to the island alone, he'd felt like he didn't have a purpose, or any kind of stability.

The marriage that was supposed to save him – and in a sense, had – had crashed from bliss to misery in the span of a few months because of Kono's decision to fight a sex trafficking ring on the mainland. She had left him behind like a stray thought, not because of lack of love but because the intensity that drove her simply left no space for anything else.

And here he was, spending yet another evening out on the streets because the thought of going back to his lonely house was too depressing.

He missed her like crazy. Understood her reasons, but still resented her at times for choosing her job over him after all they'd been through, which in turn fueled his guilt and selfishness over the whole situation. It was a vicious cycle he needed to break before it destroyed them both.

Pressing on the accelerator, Adam let the Challenger leap forward and way past the speed limit as he cruised through the outskirts of Waikiki, traveling south. Hands stroking the wheel, gaze straight ahead, he was only half-aware of the world outside until he spotted a familiar vehicle by the side of the road.

He eased his foot off the gas, turning in his seat as he passed it. It was indeed McGarrett's Silverado, and it struck Adam as odd that it was parked in an area with no houses or other cars nearby. This was a popular spot during the day and up until dusk, one of many on the island where you could watch the beauty of a Hawaiian sunset. But the sun was long gone now, replaced by a silver full moon, its glowing white streams of light reflecting off the truck's metallic surface.

Frowning, Adam put his car into park and got out, looking around for signs of his friend. He reached the truck and cupped his hands to the glass, peering inside. Nothing. Then he tried the door, finding it unlocked.

His brow furrowed. This wasn't like McGarrett at all. Unless something had happened to him.

He walked to the edge of the lookout and peered down, but all he could see were the waves pounding the rocky shoreline below. A sense of uneasiness crept up inside of him and he grabbed his cell phone to dial Steve's number when a scuffing sound caught his attention.

"Steve?" He turned around, trying to figure out where the noise had come from as he started to circle the vehicle, stopping in his tracks when he spotted the Five-0 leader sitting on the asphalt, the upper half of his body propped against the Silverado's left front wheel.

"Steve?" Adam called again, quickly covering the few feet separating them. "Hey, man, you alright?" He asked, kneeling next to him.

Legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest, McGarrett stood perfectly still, looking like a washed-out version of his former self.

"You hurt?"

It took Steve a moment to become aware of the other man's presence. He felt a touch on his arm, a hand gently closing around his bicep, and turned his head to the side to meet his gaze. "I, uh… what time is it?"

"Almost eleven. You scared me, man. You alright?"

Steve nodded. "Must've lost track of time…" he admitted, looking around as if suddenly noticing the blackness around him. Then another thought hit him. "What's wrong? Is Danny alright?"

Adam stared at him, a confused expression on his face. "What? No, man, I was just driving by. Saw your truck and stopped to see if you were alright." Realization started to dawn on him as he took in his friend's haggard appearance. Only one thing could upset McGarrett this much. "What about Danny? What's going on?"

"Get away from me, Adam," Steve said hoarsely, ducking his head. "Leave before I hurt you too…"

Taken aback by the ex-SEAL's words and the pain behind them, Adam put both hands on the man's shoulders, determined to get his attention. "Steve? What are you talking about? Where's Danny?" His decision not to check in with any of Kono's friends didn't seem like a good one after all as he got the feeling that he'd missed something important, something terrible that was affecting the task force leader in a way he'd never seen before.

The next words out of McGarrett's mouth did nothing to abate his fears. "I ruined his life… He's my best friend and he's in pain because of me." He shifted his position, dragging both of his hands over his face. "I've seen it happen so many times in the military, you know. Friendly fire. I've seen soldiers take their own lives because of it but never fully understood the implications of it until now. It just… it just wrecks you, man. And I don't know how to live with that."

Swallowing hard, Adam sat down next to him. The picture he was painting in his head as he put the pieces together was far more shocking and devastating than he'd imagined.

"I should've never accepted this job…" Steve continued. "All of you would've been better off without me." He tilted his head and their gazes met. " _You_ would've been happier. Kono would still be here with you…"

Adam shook his head as his lips stretched into a thin smile. "Kono and I would've never met if it wasn't for the job… for you. Listen, man, you're the toughest son of a bitch I know. I know it's hard, but you'll get through this."

"I don't think I can. You don't know what it feels like…"

Silence stretched for a moment as both men lost themselves in their own thoughts. "I killed my own brother," Adam eventually admitted. "My flesh and blood. And I'm going to have to live with that for the rest of my life. I know _exactly_ what it feels like."

Looking up at him, Steve saw turmoil and pain in the other man's eyes. Fear and shame. The same emotions that filled his own.

"Look, I'm not gonna tell you what to do or how to feel, I'm just offering my help."

The Five-0 leader pulled in a deep breath and let it out with a shuddering sigh. "Just let me up," he said. Adam held out his hand, then slid the other behind Steve's back to lever him into a standing position. "Can you drive?" He asked softly.

"Yeah."

"Wanna grab something to eat? I don't feel like going home just yet."

Steve rose to his feet, groaning as his stiff muscles protested at the movement, and considered the offer. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal, or felt anything but the emptiness in his heart, the numbness in his brain, the rage in his soul.

Adam wasn't judging him or offering advice. He was just being there.

Adam had faced the darkness, and had learned to live with it.

For the first time since the accident, all the feelings he had kept pent up inside seemed to gradually melt away.

All but rage.

But with that rage came determination and resolve.

And a purpose. A goal.

A mission to accomplish.

He had screwed up, but maybe there was still a way to fix things.

"Actually, I have something else in mind. Follow me."

* * *

"So you remember." Lou Grover gazed purposefully at Danny, trying to decipher the other man's expression besides the obvious signs of distress still marking his features.

"I do." Danny scratched the beard he had sprouted during his unconscious state with his good hand. "Where is he?"

"We, uh... we don't know."

The beep of the heart monitor increased its speed. "What you mean you don't know?"

"We haven't been able to locate him," the older man admitted.

Danny sat up in bed, eyes wide. "Since when?"

"Twenty-four hours. No one's heard from him since you woke up."

"What… How is that possible?" Slightly dizzy from the sudden change in position, Danny closed his eyes and pressed his lips firmly, trying to breathe slowly and deeply through his nose. "Wha—what about his phone? Did you guys check his place?"

"Danny... calm down," Lou coaxed gently. "One of the nurses found his phone on the floor right outside your room. GPS on the truck is disabled and of course we checked his place, but it looks like he hasn't been there in days."

The Jersey detective felt his stomach clench and bile rise in his throat. "What about after I got shot? Was he here? I can't remember much…"

"All day. Every day. Five days straight. We had to arm-wrestle him to convince him to go home and get some rest."

Danny stilled, realization dawning on him. "He knows."

"He knows what?"

"He knows I can't move my arm. That stupid, stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot..."

Grover noticed Danny's stiff posture, his pale complexion and the deep lines on his forehead. "It's alright, man. We'll take care of it. We'll find him."

"How? The guy's a Navy SEAL, if he doesn't want to be found you'll never find him until it's too late!" His hand sliced angrily through the air, worry and frustration overriding what little sanity he had regained since the accident.

"Danny, please calm down…"

The pain-free bliss he had experienced waking up was gone now, replaced by an incessant throb in his chest and shoulder area that pulsed along with his strained heartbeat. "Calm down? He's out there, Lou! Doing god-knows-what and on a guilt trip because he thinks he's responsible for what happened to me. How am I supposed to calm down?" He raked a hand through his hair, an odd feeling of foreboding warning him they had to find McGarrett. Soon. "This is gonna end badly..."

Lou moved closer to the bed, leaning over the railing so that he could look Danny in the eyes. "I promise you, man. I promise you we're doing everything we can to find him. And we will. And when we do we're gonna drag his ass in here so you can rip him a new one."

The ex-SWAT Captain's attempt at humor fell unnoticed. Danny let his head sink back onto the pillow, feeling exhausted and utterly drained. He wanted – no, needed to do something, and yet his body was barely keeping up with the thoughts running through his head.

His gaze lingered on his right arm, wrapped protectively in a sling.

"So what's the prognosis?" Grover asked as if he'd read his mind.

"Who knows," Danny shrugged. "Doctor says there's no way to tell. I might be fine…"

"Or?"

"Or I may never regain full use of the limb."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

A/N: I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any of its wonderful characters. If I did, angst and bromance would be a weekly occurrence so you're probably safer this way. No copyright infringement intended. Figured I'd clarify that since I haven't so far.

Hope you enjoy this chapter. The story's moving towards its climax so there's going to be some action in this one and in the next two chapters. Thanks again for sticking around, it's greatly appreciated.

* * *

His hands shook as he fumbled with the keys. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to find the right one. He looked down at them and for a moment, they were still covered in his partner's blood.

Steve closed his eyes, drawing in a breath, and willed himself to calm down. He hadn't had a decent night of sleep since the accident, and the stress of the week was finally catching up with him. With a vengeance.

Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against the door then banged his head against the wooden surface. Once, twice, three times.

He could still see the shocked, bewildered look on Danny's face as the bullet tore into his flesh, feel his precious blood seep through his fingers as he applied pressure to the wound.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Straightening up, Steve rubbed a hand over his face, glanced at the keys still resting in his palm and tried again. When he finally selected the right one his hands were still shaking, and it took him another full minute to slide it into the lock.

He pushed the door open and quickly stepped inside the house, grateful for the silence that greeted him. After the way he'd left the hospital earlier he knew his team was looking for him but hoped that they'd called the search off for the night. He wasn't ready to face them yet.

The living room was filled with an unearthly quiet, bathed in the soft, yellow light coming from the lamp near the door. Junior didn't appear to be home. He honestly couldn't blame him after the way he'd lashed out and made a mental note to apologize to the task-force's newest recruit when he got the chance.

Sighing, he dropped onto the brown leather sofa, resting his elbows on his knees. He could feel his emotions dangerously close to the surface once again but stubbornly refused to let them loose. Not this time. He had a purpose now.

Needing to give meaning to a senseless act and believe that at least some kind of justice would be served, he had decided to focus all his attention on the guy who had started it all. The man who had armed Doyle and his accomplice and poisoned his island with drugs.

He was going to find him, and make sure he didn't hurt anyone's father or best friend ever again. It wouldn't erase the guilt he felt but righting the wrongs was what he'd been trained for, what he had spent decades of his life trying to accomplish, and it gave him an odd sense of reassurance.

And maybe, just maybe, it would also give him the chance to make a difference and help restore a bit of self-worth.

Adam had been a great help. Supporting, but not intruding; resourceful and smart. Taking him up on his offer, Steve had driven from Diamond Head straight to HQ, his mind already working on a plan so that something good could come out of the mess he had created.

Together, they'd gone through every piece of information they had on James Doyle and Pacific Shipyards, working all night to explore every angle and every connection they could find. Bank and phone records, HPD reports, footage from every camera in a five-block radius of previous drug busts around the island. Until something had popped up. A name he'd recognized.

Hiding his surprise, Steve had glanced at the clock and told his friend it was time to leave. Get some rest and regroup. They would tackle it again in the morning.

He felt bad lying to Adam like that, but no one else was going to get hurt because of him. This was his mission, and his mission alone. He would check the lead out and hope it would reveal another piece of the puzzle.

He just needed to rest for a moment.

Feeling lightheaded and bone-crushingly tired, Steve leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. _Just for a little while_ , he said to himself.

His breathing slowly evened out and he drifted into an uneasy sleep. The lines of tension on his face gradually eased and the house fell quiet again, the gentle lapping of the ocean the only sound around him in the warm Hawaiian morning.

* * *

"Adam? I didn't know you were in town." Lou Grover couldn't hide the surprise in his voice as he cradled the phone to his ear with his right shoulder and used his free hands to tie his boots. He and Junior had overslept, both of them crashing in his living room after running around all day, and now they were late and his back hurt from sleeping in god-knows-what-awkward-position on the couch.

"Yeah, I got back a few days ago."

"Good to hear you, man. How's Kono?" he asked, moving on to fasten the last two buttons of his shirt. He liked the man and all, but he really didn't have time for chitchat and pleasantries. Not with his boss currently MIA and his second-in-command in a hospital bed dealing with a potential life-altering injury.

The hesitation on the other end of the line was hard to miss. "She's— she's busy. Following leads all over the west coast. Look, man, I need to tell you something. It's about McGarrett."

That stopped Grover in his tracks. "What about McGarrett?"

"He, uh…" Adam started, unsure of how much to reveal. He knew Steve wanted to keep what they had done private, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the man was on to something and felt compelled to help. "We were supposed to meet at the Palace two hours ago and he never showed up. I just wanna make sure—"

"Whoa, hold on a second!" Lou stopped him, snapping his fingers in Junior's direction to get the kid's attention. "You saw McGarrett?" he asked, putting Adam on speaker so they both could hear him. The young man immediately jumped to his feet, staring at the device with an intent, determined look in his eyes.

"Last night. I spotted him on my way home. He, uh… he wasn't doing well so I thought I'd keep an eye on him."

"We've been looking for him since yesterday morning." Lou's voice carried the same concern that had sent the team on a search across the island the day before.

"Yeah, I heard what happened to Danny. I'm sorry. How's he doing?"

"Holding his own, considering. He's got a long way ahead of him."

Adam sighed. "Listen, I'm not sure I should tell you this but we spent the night at the office going through Doyle's records." Junior tilted his head up to meet Grover's matching frown. "I'm just calling because I'm afraid he's gonna do something stupid and I don't want him to get in trouble."

Lou shook his head. They should've known it. _He_ should've known it. Steve wasn't going to just sit and wait. Even in his frazzled state, they should've figured out vengeance and atonement would be on his mind.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. You still at the Palace?"

"Yeah."

Grover looked at Junior, and they nodded in unison. "Alright, don't move. We're on our way."

* * *

If there was one thing Danny Williams hated, it was being in the hospital. Stuck in a bed, depending on others, with nothing but time on his hands.

And as the hours went by, he realized getting out of it wouldn't be nearly as fast or as easy as he'd imagined.

They'd removed some of the machines that had helped support his body's functions and monitor his conditions but he was still weak, and got tired easily. He had frequent and sudden mood changes, which made him more anxious and quick-tempered than usual, felt fearful about his slow recovery and insecure about the final outcome and the impact it might have on his everyday life.

The doctor was pleased with his progress, even if he'd complained he was having difficulty concentrating and remembering things. And as if all that wasn't enough, he'd noticed changes to his taste and sense of smell, caused by the tubes and the drugs he'd had to take.

An endless routine of medical tests and physical therapy would wait for him every morning until he regained his strength and hopefully, the use of his right arm. If it wasn't for the promise that his kids would visit him every day, he would've probably already given up.

That, and the worry for his partner who was still out there and surely about to pull one of his spectacularly stupid stunts and put his life in danger. If he hadn't already.

The heart monitor picked up speed as the guilt for not being there for him engulfed his entire being.

Steve was afraid to let people get close for fear that he would lose them. Afraid of losing control, of showing the vulnerability behind his invincible, superhero persona. Danny was the only one who had been allowed into his sacred circle of trust in a way no one else had been before. And now Steve was convinced that he'd lost him over something Danny had never blamed him for, not even for a second, which made him a ticking bomb ready to explode and a danger to himself and anyone who dared cross his path.

Danny's breath hitched.

He loved the guy almost as much as he loved his own children and often wondered if Steve knew it, if his words and displays of affection had ever sunk in. Did he ever believe them, or had his family background and twisted sense of being unworthy lessened their meaning?

He'd made a point to share those feelings with him every chance he could. Maybe in a few unorthodox ways, yes, but Steve should've known better. He should've known that he'd never blame him for something he'd had no control over. Something that was just bad luck, being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

His face scrunched in concentration as he willed his fingers to move.

He needed his arm back because when they found him, he was going to use it to punch his best friend in the face.

* * *

Steve stood on the sidewalk of a deserted side street in Kakaako, staring at the building in front of him. The place where everything had started.

The two hours of sleep he'd gotten weren't nearly enough to compensate the ones he'd lost, but he felt refreshed and clear-headed enough to start his mission.

Memories of his recent visit to Doyle's apartment assaulted his brain. The loud music, the frightened six-year old hiding under the bed, the fear that had led his actions as he itched to find his partner's location.

He had paid no attention to the man's girlfriend, dismissing her as another wasted junkie who shouldn't have been allowed to procreate. But when her name and gaunt face had popped up on one of the screens back at HQ the night before, he'd realized there was more to her story than they'd originally thought.

As his quick morning search had revealed, Kat Morris had come to Oahu on the same flight as her boyfriend. Born Katherine Ann Dawson in El Paso, Texas, she had married fellow high school dropout Frank Morris when she was barely eighteen. Fourteen months and two arrests for possession later she'd met James Doyle, who was already a dealer and working his way up the ladder. The two had relocated to Hawaii in 2012 where their son Kevin was born.

Waitress and part-time drug dealer, Kat had managed to fly below radar until Steve had connected the dots and realized she was as active a player as her boyfriend had been, and could provide him with the answers that Doyle had taken with him to the grave.

His hand instinctively curled around the weapon holstered at his side as he entered the apartment complex and took the stairs to the second floor. Unlike his previous visit this time everything was silent, the few tenants who lived there either still asleep or already at work.

Steve moved quickly along the hallway, both eager for resolution and on edge about the whole situation. His thoughts slid back to Danny and he swallowed hard, imagining what it must feel like for him not being able to hold his son anymore, teach him how to play ball, or giving up the only thing he'd ever felt good at. His job.

He had stripped his best friend of his identity, irreparably compromised his role as a cop and as a father. No words or actions could ever make up for that. He wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes, but he could at least reassure him that every person responsible for what had happened was no longer a threat.

The wooden frame to apartment 2F was still splintered from when he'd kicked the door in a week earlier. The sight made his lips curl into a satisfied smile. The next thing he noticed turned the smile into a frown: the door was slightly ajar.

He unholstered his SIG and entered the apartment.

The living room was completely trashed. Overturned chairs, toppled bookshelves, couch cushions thrown all over. Steve moved around strewn papers and scattered clothes, eyes scanning the cluttered space for signs of the woman or the kid.

He paused when he reached the bedroom, listening for sounds. The curtains were drawn and the air was stale, signs that no one had been around for hours. The bed was stripped, sheets and quilt lying in a heap on the floor along with more clothing and a few broken toys. Steve knelt down, unable to stop himself from checking under the bed, but no one was there.

Senses on alert, he rose to his feet and headed towards the kitchen. He had a bad feeling about this. Whoever Doyle worked for must've been angry he'd lost the drugs and had likely retaliated against his family.

A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Danny's advised him to be careful. He ignored it. Danny wasn't there. Danny was no longer his friend.

He stepped over plates and cutlery, surveying the damage. Whoever had trashed the apartment had done a sloppy job. They were either in a hurry, or had purposefully thrown stuff out to make it look like a break-in. So far there wasn't any sign that they'd left anyone or anything behind, but there was one last place to check. The bathroom.

Steve inched closer, noticing the door was closed. He adjusted the grip on his weapon and pushed it open.

A sour, metallic scent was the first thing he smelled and his stomach roiled in reflex as it temporarily smothered his senses and suffocated his breath.

Kat Morris' body was lying limply inside the tub in a pool of congealing blood, limbs at awkward angles and a dark red hole in the middle of her forehead. Bruises marked her arms, face and torso and brain matter stained the white tiles behind her head.

His eyes tricked him with images of his partner's still form and Steve took a step back, startled. He shook his head and reached for the sink with his free hand, blinking a few times to will the memories away.

 _Alive._

 _Danny was alive._

 _Danny was_ …

 _Breathe in, count to four._

 _Hold your breath, count to four._

 _Exhale, count to four._

Relying on the technique he'd learned in SEAL training, Steve let his heartbeat slow back to normal so he could focus on the crime scene in front of him.

The woman's mouth hung open, frozen in an eternal grimace, her lifeless eyes wide with the fear she had experienced in her final moments. Long auburn hair, matted with blood, were framing her ragged features.

He leaned forward, his warm hand soft on her cold skin as he closed her eyes. She might have been beautiful once, carefree even, before wrong habits and bad decisions had irreparably changed her.

Unable to tear his eyes off the macabre scene, Steve slid the gun back in its holster and raked a hand through his short hair. His heart ached for the kid he'd held in his arms just a week before, and who had now lost both his parents. He'd seen too many of them put into foster care, malnourished and physically abused, bouncing around from family to family until they ended up with a juvie record or worse, dead. It wasn't a pretty picture. When this was all over, he would speak to CPS and ask to personally supervise Kevin's case to make sure he ended up with the right people

For a few moments he just stood there, contemplating the unexpected development in the case and considering his next move. Kat Morris was supposed to be the link to the next piece of the puzzle, the one who would lead him to whoever was pulling the strings. This changed everything. And not in a good way. How was he supposed to find him now?

He strode back into the living room, gaze sweeping over the chaos that he now knew had been the result of a struggle. A bright red model car sitting upside down under a chair caught his attention. It was one of those remote-controlled toys that delighted kids and annoyed parents. Charlie had a few just like that, and Danny always complained about finding those damn things all over the house and how they hurt if you stepped on them with your bare feet.

A small smile curved his lips and Steve bent down to pick it up, holding it between his hands as he remained in a crouched position. Fond memories of a happier time that was now only a distant thought made the lump in his throat grow in its size until he shifted his eyes to look down at the floor and spotted something else. A cell phone, half hidden by one of the couch cushions.

He reached into one of his pockets and took out a pair of black nitrile gloves, using one to pick the phone up. Holding his breath, he touched the screen and was relieved to find out it was on, and had no password protection.

Kevin's smiling face stared back at him from the screen. Steve did his best to ignore it, focusing instead on finding a clue that would steer him in the right direction.

A quick scroll of the call history revealed several calls received from the same number in the last few days, and that person had also texted with a location and a time the day before.

He needed to find out who it was.

Shoving the phone into his pants pocket, Steve took one last look around and got out of the apartment. He might not have a direction, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to find one.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

* * *

A/N: Standard medical disclaimer applies to this chapter. Blame any inaccuracy on me, or think of it as creative license.

* * *

Steve sat inside the Silverado, staring at the picture on the laptop balanced on his thighs.

After calling HPD to alert them of the dead body inside Doyle's apartment, he had used his skills as a Naval Intelligence officer to run the number on Kat Morris' cell phone and get satellite images of the address written in the text message she'd received. That, along with the information on Pacific Shipyards he and Adam had uncovered the night before, had painted a clearer picture of the company's organization, leading Steve to the man he now believed was in charge of running the show.

Frank Luther Whitmore.

Coal-black, piercing eyes stared back at him as he committed the features to memory. The broad forehead, the long nose, the close-cropped hair.

 _Frank Luther Whitmore._

Steve repeated the name in his head, over and over.

The muscle along his jaw twitched. He wanted to end him, watch the life bleed from his body. He wanted to punish him. Show him that nobody was going to get away with hurting his partner or his family.

Based in San Diego, the alleged businessman owned several shipping companies both on the island and the San Francisco Bay area. Several of his associates had been arrested for money laundering and fraud over the years, but Whitmore never got his hands dirty and had no criminal record. Yet.

He briefly considered calling Chin and ask if he had eyes on the man or could help him track his movements, then quickly discarded the idea and contacted TSA instead to find if Whitmore had recently traveled to Oahu.

And sure enough, he'd flown in on his private jet the day after the drug bust, and there was no record of him leaving the island.

Steve's eyes narrowed. The son of a bitch was still in Hawaii.

The location on the text message was only twenty minutes away. With a bit of luck, he would find someone he could get answers from –or the man himself.

With newfound strength and firm resolution that he wouldn't rest until Frank Luther Whitmore was dead in a hole he closed the laptop, placing it on the passenger's seat, put the gear into drive and headed out for the road.

* * *

Jerry Ortega was fast.

Not when it came to running or other physical activities, but give him a computer and his fingers could fly on the keyboard like a pianist playing a symphony.

And he was good.

He could get any information and access almost any classified database and encrypted website. It had taken months to earn his Five-0 badge and now that he was officially part of the team, he worked even harder to provide them with the answers they needed. McGarrett had trusted him, and he would do anything in his power not to disappoint him.

That included finding anyone connected to James Doyle and the task force's recent drug bust. Their leader needed help, and Jerry never backed out of a challenge. With Adam at his side as a trusty aide, he'd pulled up everything he could. Family, known associates, places he frequented, where he did business. Anything he could get his hands on.

So when Lou Grover joined them around the smart table after taking a phone call, he was ready for action.

"That was Duke," the ex-SWAT Captain stated as four sets of eyes focused on him. "He said Doyle's girlfriend was found murdered in her apartment early this morning."

"We should've seen that coming," Tani replied. "I mean, Doyle was clearly fronting for someone. I'm not surprised they exacted revenge. Who called it in?"

"An anonymous tip."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Lou realized who that Samaritan was. "McGarrett."

He shook his head, concern mounting with each second. The man was three steps ahead of them and clearly on the hunt. Or on his way to a suicide mission.

"Jerry, find me everything you can on the dead woman."

In Steve and Danny's absence, responsibilities fell on Lou. It was his job to take the lead and make sure they cleared this mess with no further damage.

"On it, Captain," Jerry nodded. And once again, his fingers started to move.

* * *

"Hey, man. I bumped into the nurse on the way in. She said you have some movement back in your arm."

Danny cringed, grateful to be facing away from the door. He wasn't in the mood to see anyone unless his visitors had news on Steve's whereabouts. The latest update from his doctor had left him rattled, the news he'd received dampening the positive attitude he was struggling to maintain. He shifted, fidgeting with the bed controls to avoid Grover's sympathetic stare.

"Yeah… I, uh- not enough to take surgery off the table," he awkwardly replied as he raised the upper half of the mattress.

Two days had passed since he'd first awakened in the ICU with no sensation in his right arm. Hypoesthesia, they'd called it. Partial loss of sensitivity. The doctor had told him that his brachial plexus had been damaged. When Danny had looked at him as if he'd grown two heads, he had patiently explained that those big words defined a network of intertwined nerves that control movement and sensation in the arm and hand. The bullet had sliced through them, causing the loss of said feeling and movement.

They'd done some repair with the first surgery when he was brought in, but had been unable to fix the problem completely.

Now that he had regained some strength, they would determine if the damaged nerves could be salvaged through a procedure called nerve grafting. Danny had tried not to listen as the doctor detailed how they were going to take a nerve from the back of his leg and sew it in between the two ends of the lacerated ones, where it would act as a scaffold to support regeneration and growth and ultimately restore signals to the paralyzed muscles.

To top things off, they had informed him that if the surgery was successful, the recovery period would take up to six months. _Six months_. Nerves heal slowly, the doctor had said. Which meant weeks of rehab and riding the couch to even going back to desk duty.

In the meantime, they'd put his right arm in a sling, wrapped a swath around it to hold it to his body and told him to relax. _Relax_. As if there was a world in which Danny Williams could do that.

"Physical therapy can do wonders with nerve damage," Lou offered, bringing him back to the present. "I've seen it with my own eyes."

Danny let out a frustrated sigh. "Detectives are supposed to carry a gun, Lou. What if this doesn't work? What happens if I can't? What am I gonna do?"

The older man heard the desperation in his friend's voice and lowered his gaze, unsure of what to say. Just a week before he'd tried to talk Steve off the ledge and here he was again, struggling to offer support where no support would ever be enough.

"Look, I came to tell you that we caught a break," he said, deciding to change the subject and go straight to the purpose of his visit.

Danny stilled, staring straight at him for the first time since he'd entered the room.

"Doyle's girlfriend was killed this morning. Jerry worked his magic and we think we found the man they worked for." That was the short version. He didn't think Danny needed to hear all the details, only that they were on their way to hopefully rescue his friend before he got into trouble.

Grover had to give it to their conspiracy theorist, the man had almost worked a miracle. He didn't know much about computers but he could recognize strong will and dedication, and Jerry had proved to have both. He had run Kat Morris' financials, finding several wire transfers deposited into an offshore account. The money had then been traced back to a shipping company in San Francisco owned by the same guy who owned the warehouse where the drug bust had taken place, Frank Whitmore.

Furthermore, he had also accessed her phone records, retrieving a text message with the address for a location in Sand Island the woman had received the day before she died.

A location they were hoping would hold both Whitmore and McGarrett, who Lou was positive had come to the same conclusion and was planning a takedown Navy SEAL-style.

"So they were both involved..." It wasn't really a question. Even under medication, Danny was smarter than the average detective.

"Sure looks that way."

"Isn't there a kid in the picture? Steve… he, uh, he mentioned it back at the warehouse." There were details from that day he was still missing, but he clearly remembered the anger in Doyle's voice as soon as he heard that the police had his son. That's when things had started to go downhill.

"Kevin," Lou nodded. "Child Services is gonna take care of him until they find a relative or a foster home." His phone beeped, a text from Tani informing him they were ready to go. "Listen, Danny, I gotta go now. We're about to check this address and we need to move fast if we want to rely on the element of surprise."

"Yeah, sure." Danny made a sweeping gesture towards the door with his uninjured arm, watching as his teammate put the phone back in his pocket and started to leave. A million thoughts were racing in his head, and yet only one was pressing enough to warrant his attention. "Lou?"

The older man turned around. As their gazes met, he saw the concern and the unspoken plea in the detective's eyes.

 _Please take care of Steve. Make sure he comes out of this alive._

"I will."

* * *

Steve drove.

With no seconds to spare, he maneuvered the Silverado around the mid-morning traffic as if his life depended on it. And in a way it did. What was left of his sanity relied on the mission's success.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Whitmore decided to leave the island and go back to San Francisco. With his shipment seized and his business destroyed, the man had no reason to stay and risk exposure – or worse. That gave Steve a limited time frame to check the address on Kat Morris' cell phone and get to him before he fled.

Reinforcing the urgency that kept his right foot pressed on the gas pedal with lights and siren, he covered the last few miles separating him from his destination and reached the one-story building in the heart of Sand Island. Known as Quarantine Island and used as an Army internment camp after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the less-than-a-square-mile area was now mostly an industrial zone, housing warehouses and storage places for various shipping and engineering companies.

Deciding not to draw any unnecessary attention, Steve left the truck in the parking lot of a neighboring store and quickly jogged towards the back of the building. Uneasiness stopped him along the way, a feeling that he was forgetting something, something important he needed to do. Gun in hand, he scanned the perimeter while racking his brain to figure out what he was missing but the answer eluded him and there was no time. He needed to go. He would worry about it later.

The air was heavy and humid. He felt the moisture clinging to his clothes as he stealthily crept up to the construction. Drawing in a breath, he pressed his back against the concrete siding and peered through one of the windows. An empty office. Frowning, Steve shuffled around the building, staying close to the walls and peeking into any opening he could find. No one seemed to be there. The space was barren, furniture and supplies scattered to the ground as if the owners had left in a rush.

Had he missed them? Was he too late, forced once again to witness the events without the power to change them?

The sound of heavy doors closing alerted him that maybe all wasn't lost. He heard voices coming from the front of the building, then an engine starting. Holding his gun at the ready, he edged toward the corner, taking a peak at whatever activity was going on.

Two men, dressed in all black, were stuffing boxes inside the trunk of a grey Mercedes with tinted windows. Two more were standing on each side of the car, surveilling the scene, automatic rifles in hand.

And by the open back door, dressed in a perfectly-tailored, crisp suit and taking a smoke as if he didn't have a care in the world, was the man who had ruined his life.

It took all of Steve's willpower not to drop him with a single shot to the head. Instead, he flattened himself against the wall, waiting for the right moment. Although he didn't have to worry about police procedure as he wasn't planning on letting any of them live, he was one man against five. He needed to assess the situation and plan his attack carefully. Inflict the most damage without making himself a target.

"Car's loaded and ready to go."

The curt statement and the sound of the trunk closing prompted him to peer around the edge of the wall again.

Whitmore was grinning as he took small, slow draws of his cigarette and gave his men a pleased nod. His face held the confidence of someone who wasn't accustomed to losing, his tanned skin and expensive tastes etching stories of money and a privileged life.

Tightening the grip on his gun, Steve vowed to wipe that grin off his face.

He thought about Danny, about the life and safety he'd sacrificed to become his partner when he had given him no choice, and hoped one day he would understand his reasons. If things went south, Steve would at least go down with the knowledge that he had done everything he could to fix what he'd ruined.

Then he counted to three, steeled himself and trained the gun on his target.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

* * *

A/N: Ready for some action? After last week's cliffhanger, let's see if I can make it up to you guys with this chapter… I smiled when I read your comments, some of you actually guessed right regarding the thing Steve forgot before heading towards the building. Great minds think alike!

As you read, bear in mind that Steve is _not_ in the right mindset to be going after this guy. At least not by himself. He's not 100% focused and in control like he thinks he is, and that explains what's going to happen. I deliberately chose to go this way. I didn't want to paint superhero McGarrett in this story, but the man's vulnerabilities behind that persona. He is not always infallible. He makes mistakes and has lapses in judgement like everyone else. And his behavior in this story proves just that.

Part of the scene/dialogue in this chapter was inspired by my very first TV obsession, a show called "Third Watch". It was the first fandom I ever wrote for, and it featured another damaged hero I quickly fell in love with.

I'd really, really like to know what you think about this one so please drop me a line when you're done reading. Thank you.

* * *

If there was ever an advantage to being a member of Five-0, other than being blessed with unconditional love and life-long friendships, it was the ability to bend all the basic rules of law enforcement and traffic.

As he raced back to Headquarters to gear up and get Junior and Tani, displaying old school Chicago skills that would make McGarrett proud, Lou Grover thought about the promise he'd made to Danny and wondered if he would be able to keep it.

They had their guy. A security camera outside one of the hotels downtown had shown Whitmore getting inside a silver sedan two hours before, and satellite images had spotted the same car at the location on the dead woman's cell phone. They just needed to beat Steve to it.

Steve, who had at least a two-hour head start on them and had disabled the GPS in his truck. Who believed he had failed them all and like a good sailor, was willing to go down with the ship. In his eyes, bringing down Whitmore was the only way to redeem himself. He would not stop until he brought the man down and that made him unpredictable, erratic. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, what he saw was just the end goal. Do or die. He didn't care otherwise.

It was up to Lou and the rest of the team to convince him that there was more to it, and that the life he was so carelessly willing to sacrifice was still worth living.

Screeching to a halt in front of the Palace, Lou said a silent prayer that just this once, things wouldn't go downhill and that he wouldn't have to make Williams' life even more miserable.

* * *

There's a moment of sheer clarity that comes right before going into battle.

A moment when everything falls into place and every doubt dissipates. Steve had experienced it many times as a soldier. Thousands of miles away from home, in the direst conditions, it's easy to forget what you're fighting for. Right until that moment, when you're reminded of what really matters.

As his finger curled around the trigger, Steve focused on the answer to that question.

 _Danny._

Danny mattered. He was doing this for Danny.

Eliminating Whitmore's cohorts was the first order of business. With them gone, he could concentrate on exacting his revenge. It would be easy to end him now, he thought as his eyes tracked the man's sleek silhouette. A bullet to the head. He wouldn't even see it coming. But Steve wanted him to suffer, to realize that all his money wasn't going to help him. He wanted him to learn Danny's name, the name of a good man who didn't deserve to suffer just for doing his job.

Then, and only then, Steve would finally kill him.

Taking a deep breath, he stuck his head out around the corner and aimed at the thug on Whitmore's left. One bullet, center mass. The man was dead before he even hit the ground.

The stark sound of the gunshot filled the air.

Four heads turned around, eyes wide, wondering what the hell had happened. In the few seconds it took the three guards to regroup and gather around their leader to escort him back to the building, Steve pulled out a grenade and threw it under the Mercedes. He couldn't let them leave. One way or another, this is where it was going to end.

The blast was as powerful as he'd expected, the car going up in a fiery ball of yellow flames as Whitmore and his thugs hit the ground and Steve ducked back to take cover.

Expensive suit and good mood ruined, the businessman rose to his feet a few seconds later and staggered inside the building with two of his men. The third one headed in Steve's direction, weapon at the ready.

Holstering his SIG, the Five-0 leader crouched as low as he could and waited for the man to pass his hiding place, then slipped up silently behind him. His fingers reached around the man's neck, pressing hard to cut off blood flow until his eyes rolled back into his head. With a satisfied grunt, Steve eased the body to the ground and picked up the automatic rifle, pleased to find out it was fully loaded.

Vibrating with tension as his body readied itself to strike, he raised the weapon and sprinted across the open expanse of asphalt towards the building's entrance, pressing himself close against the steel door. Footsteps echoed inside. If he could surprise them—

His intentions were short-lived, for as soon as he stepped inside he found himself face to face with one of Whitmore's thugs. The man grinned, lifted his M-16 and took aim. Steve ducked and dove to the floor a fraction of a second before a hail of bullets hit the space where he'd been standing.

Adrenaline pumping, he rolled twice before coming up to one knee and returning fire, hitting his target twice. _Two down, two to go_ , he thought to himself as he crept past the still form, checking left and right.

A shadow caught his eye, a flash of movement, and he spun around to see another gunman come out of one of the empty offices. He fired two quick rounds into the man's heart and watched him slid down the wall into a sitting position on the floor, leaving a smear of blood behind him.

The smell of burnt gunpowder brought him back to his days as a SEAL. They had trained him to keep his focus under impossible circumstances, to ignore the ringing in his ears that came after each shot and concentrate solely on the target, tuning out everything else. What they didn't teach him was to deal with emotions, with that human component that could sweep away decades of training and break even the most resilient soldier.

"Give it up, Whitmore," he yelled. "I got back up on the way!"

It wasn't technically a lie. The explosion had surely drawn attention, HPD couldn't be far behind. Receiving no answer, he squinted his eyes for a better look and swiftly moved on.

A fist came flying out from behind one stack of crates, connecting with his skull, and sent him crashing into another wooden crate. Steve managed to keep himself upright and slammed into his attacker full force, knocking him sideways. "Five-0! Put your hands up!"

The man's rifle flew out of his hand. He threw a punch, catching Steve's chin, but was forced down by a knee to the gut. He kicked Steve's legs out from under him as he fell and they both hit the floor hard. Momentarily stunned, the former SEAL dropped his own weapon. Time seemed to stand still as they fought, trading blow for blow until a well-placed punch to the attacker's left kidney gave Steve enough time to get to his feet and reach for the pistol at his side. Aiming to kill, he didn't think twice before squeezing the trigger and adding another nameless face to his extensive list of war and job casualties.

Silence descended upon the building.

Steve took a moment to catch his breath and tested his body, grateful for the fact that besides a few bruises and a bump to the head that would result in one hell of a headache later, nothing seemed broken.

His eyes quickly scanned the perimeter, looking for the remaining target.

"Frank Whitmore!" he called out. "Come out with your hands behind your back!"

A shot suddenly rang through the air.

Steve fell backwards as a bullet ripped through his left thigh, knocking him off balance. He blinked wildly as his vision dimmed for a moment, fracturing into shards of grey and black, and blindly aimed the SIG at the space in front of him.

 _No_.

This was _not_ how it was going to end.

 _Get a grip, McGarrett._

 _Control the pain_. _Push through it._

Eyes frantically darting around, he forced the burning feeling to the back of his mind and focused on the sound of approaching footsteps.

"That wasn't a smart move, Commander," Frank Whitmore said, calmly stepping out of his hiding place and moving closer. His shoes made a rhythmical noise against the pavement as he walked, and the grin was back on his face. He was holding a Beretta 9mm, pointed straight at Steve. "Revealing your position to the enemy. I thought you were smarter than that."

Steve straightened up, rising unsteadily to his feet. "I think we're way past caring about that now," he gritted out, face set hard as stone. He couldn't suppress the thrill that ran through him as he finally found himself face to face with the bastard who had ruined his life. And now that he had him, he wasn't going to let him out of the building alive. Whatever it took.

Determination steeled him, and he tightened his grip on the gun. "I have to say though, I'm surprised you know who I am."

Whitmore smiled even wider. "I am a man of many resources. I like to know who interferes with my business and you, Commander McGarrett, have cost me quite a lot."

 _I can say the same of you_ , Steve wanted to reply. _You cost me my family_.

"How is your partner, Detective Williams? I hear he might have to consider a change in career."

"Shut up!" Steve bellowed, firing a round to the man's left. "You don't get to say his name!" Ignoring the stickiness of his bloodied cargo pants on his skin he limped closer, advancing a few steps. "Put down your weapon," he ordered, aiming another shot at the space between the wall and the man's right shoulder.

If Whitmore was startled by the bullet whizzing past his ear, he didn't show it. "Or what? You're going to arrest me?"

Steve shook his head. "You're not getting out of here."

"Are you going to 'accidentally' shoot me?"

"Make a move," Steve growled. "Just give me a reason."

"I don't think so. I'm a smart guy. I surrender."

"Just like that?"

"Why not? My lawyers will have me out before the ink on your paperwork dries." He made a show of lowering his weapon, only to stop halfway through it. "On second thought…" he sneered, training it back on Steve. "You must know, Commander, people like you never beat people like me. A battle or two maybe. Never the whole war."

Steve raised his SIG, intent on stopping him once and for all. This was dragging on too long. It was time to put an end to it.

He didn't get the chance to squeeze the trigger.

The sharp pain that tore through his side was so much stronger than his other aches and so unexpected that Steve actually stilled. Mouth agape, he let the gun clatter to the ground and looked down, staring at the growing red stain on his navy-blue shirt.

 _Shit._ The son of a bitch had shot him again.

Biting through his lip, Steve held back the cry of pain that tore from his throat and welcomed the feeling as proper punishment for losing focus, for allowing the enemy to prevail.

Sounds muted around him. Colors paled. His injured leg gave out and he fell on his knees, pressing one hand to the wound to stop the blood from seeping steadily out of it. The touch brought fire to his entire body and what started as a shocked gasp in reaction to it quickly turned into a coughing fit.

Thick, red blood splattered on his lips.

 _Fuck_.

He remembered the uneasiness that had stopped him on his way to the building, the gut instinct that he'd missed something important, and it finally dawned on him: the vest. He'd forgotten to wear his tac vest. Danny's voice in his head called him an idiot and Steve almost smiled as he imagined the familiar rant coming out of his best friend's mouth if he'd ruined his liver.

 _Ex-best friend_ , he corrected himself.

Danny would be so ashamed of him right now. He was failing all over again.

When the dizziness cleared enough for his brain to start working again he looked up at Whitmore, who had his weapon still trained on him and victory plastered on his face.

"I don't think that backup's coming after all," the businessman snickered, coming to stand only a few feet away from Steve's hunkered form.

The Five-0 leader watched him darkly, teeth clenched tight as he tried to convey all his hatred and disgust. Panting shallowly, he stood still and gathered his strength. The effort to stay upright was exhausting and he was feeling lightheaded, but he knew that this was his only chance, and defeat wasn't an option.

Physical limits could be broken, they'd taught him. Pushed beyond endurance.

 _Pain is in the mind. Control the mind._

 _Focus on your goal. Nothing else matters._

Feeling the adrenalin course through his system, he silently pulled his combat knife from his boot and gripped it tightly, concealing it from his enemy's sight.

"I think I'm going to walk out of here now," Whitmore said, looking down at him. "I got a plane to catch."

 _Hell, no._

 _The only way you're getting out of here is in a body bag._

"Not . . . g-gonna happen," Steve panted, his voice low but threatening.

Fighting against every instinct in his body screaming at him to just lay down and rest, he pushed himself to his feet. His vision swam in and out of focus, the ground shifting beneath him as a sudden wave of nausea swept over him. He swallowed convulsively and spit a mouthful of blood to the floor.

Whitmore smiled, amused by his opponent's resilience. "You just don't quit, do you?" His dark eyes stared hard at him. Despite the hunched posture and the blood dripping steadily from his wounds, the man looked menacing enough to scare an attacker into submission. Only he had no weapon to back those threats up with, and the businessman doubted he could even partake in a physical fight even if he wanted to. The Commander would bleed out soon. And by the time the police found his body, he would be on his way back to San Francisco.

Steve had considered death as a possible outcome.

He had accepted his fate years ago as a trained soldier and was okay with it. Given the circumstances, it might even be better than a life without his best friend. What he couldn't, _wouldn't_ accept was unfinished business. Quitting before the mission was complete.

Men like Whitmore were used to having their own way with the snap of their fingers and a well-delivered threat. They thought the world revolved around them and did not spare a second glance to anyone they didn't consider a threat.

And that would be his downfall. Underestimating just how far Steve was willing to go to avenge Danny and his family.

One last effort.

One last push so there would be no regrets.

He could face God, or meet his teammates' eyes, and be sure he'd done everything he could.

Steve took a deep breath and pulled every bit of strength he could muster from within himself.

 _One last effort…_

Against his chalky-white skin, his blue eyes were cold as ice. He focused them on Whitmore and smiled through blood-red teeth.

"You'll never win…" he whispered darkly.

"I already did. Enjoy the limited life you have left, Commander. I'll make sure to stop by Detective Williams' room and tell him how you died."

A surge of anger flooded him at the mention of his partner's name.

His hand steadied.

His gaze cleared.

Without hesitation, Steve launched himself at the man, his arm snapping up and plunging the knife deep into his gut, twisting it with all his might. Whitmore's face lost his grin and slacked in shock as he swayed on his feet, staring down in disbelief at the handle sticking out of his chest. Then he fell on his back, crumpling like a puppet released of its strings.

Steve didn't bother to check on him.

The threat had been neutralized.

 _He'd won._

He closed his eyes wearily _._ The adrenaline was ebbing from his bloodstream, leaving him lightheaded in its wake. Sounds and sensations that had been muted only moments before came back to life and he doubled over, almost dropping to his knees as all of his senses floated back into place, magnifying the pain he had so fiercely tried to ignore.

Tires screeched outside.

Backup had arrived.

Steve concentrated on his breathing, trying to will his mind to focus on the next task at hand: walking out of the building. His team would be there within seconds, he needed to brief them and coordinate with HPD… and then there was Danny… he needed to tell Danny…

Staggering on unsteady legs, he took one wooden step after another, mechanically bringing himself towards the double steel doors and away from Whitmore's dead body.

He heard Lou's voice calling his name, an urgency to it that he couldn't quite place. Everything had gone according to plan… why was he worried? And suddenly the man was there, staring at him with wide, panicked eyes.

Steve would never know it, but the sight of his friend's battered body would haunt the ex-SWAT Captain for weeks to come. Climbing out of the Suburban before it even came to a complete stop, Grover had rushed to the concrete building and stared with increasing fright at the pile of bodies lying on the ground. Behind him, Junior and Tani were already instructing the HPD officers to secure the scene and call the fire squad.

The silence around him was deafening. Whatever had gone down inside these walls was over. Lou frantically looked around, heart hammering inside his chest, until he spotted a familiar figure coming towards him.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

Steve was limping from what appeared to be a gunshot wound to his left thigh. One hand was cradled protectively across his chest, and he moved like he was trying to keep himself from falling to the ground. His complexion was ashen, and a few multicolored bruises were already blossoming on his face. A split on his right cheek was coating his neck with blood and the rest of him, from what he could see, had endured the same treatment.

Lou's gaze traveled over his friend's body, coming to rest on the hand hanging limply at his side. Blood was dripping from it, leaving a steady trail on the pavement. Too much blood for a leg injury.

And then he saw it. A tear in the man's shirt. A shirt that was suspiciously much darker around his chest area.

"Steve?" he called, unable to help the quiver in his tone.

A faint smile touched Steve's lips. "I did it, Lou... I took care of it." He stopped a few feet from him. And started to sway.

Lou hurried over to catch his friend before he fell. His eyes seemed entirely out of focus, as if Steve was looking right through him, and his breaths were coming in quick, shallow gasps. "You sure did," he said gently as he tried to lower him to the ground. "Why don't we sit down for a minute?"

Steve struggled feebly against Grover's hold. The effort to stand and the blood loss had drained almost all of his strength, and the pain had increased to such a level of intensity that he could feel the darkness beginning to close in around him. "M'fine…" he blurted out. "I just… I need to see Danny…"

"It's alright," the older man reassured him. "You're gonna get checked out first, and then you can see Danny."

"I n-need to tell him…" he breathed, his voice almost imperceptible, but was unable to finish his sentence.

The air that was supposed to fill in his lungs didn't.

The words that were supposed to come out were lost.

Steve closed his eyes, and went limp in his friend's arms.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten

A/N: This is it, guys. The chapter you've been waiting for. Steve and Danny are finally reunited. Hope I did it justice, and as usual I'd love to hear your thoughts about it.

Medical disclaimer once again applies here. And I still don't own anything. Too bad, I know.

There will be an epilogue next week to tie up all the loose ends.

* * *

Danny Williams didn't believe in sixth sense and premonitions.

His matter-of-fact, New Jersey attitude had always ruled them out as deranged theories born out of superstition and irrational popular beliefs.

But when it came to his partner he had developed a special awareness from years of witnessing him turn even the most mundane task into a life-or-death situation, and could pinpoint with absolute certainty the moment one of Steve's plans took a turn for the worse even from miles away.

That sense of dread had woken him up in a cold sweat about an hour after Grover had left, gripping his heart in a vise.

He'd sat up in bed, heart thumping against his ribs, and pushed the call button, instructing the nurse that came to check on him to please give him his phone. Immediately. When she politely denied his request on the premise that no devices were allowed in the ICU, he'd angrily demanded that she get in contact with Captain Grover from the Five-0 task force for a matter of the utmost urgency, and that they transfer him to a regular room so he could call who he pleased.

She had nodded and quickly scurried away, only to come back ten minutes later to tell him that the Captain was unable to speak to him at the moment but would update him as soon as he could.

That had all but confirmed his fears.

Danny had scrubbed at his face with his good hand.

And began to wait.

For Lou to get back to him while every possible worst-case scenario ran through his head, through five excruciating hours of emergency surgery to get news on his partner's conditions, and even more hours as the stubborn Neanderthal refused to wake up.

He had asked about his liver, learning that the organ hadn't been affected by the path of the bullet that had nicked Steve's colon and retroperitoneal area instead. The wound to his thigh was a through and through and had been easily repaired without consequences. Sighing in relief, Danny had thanked God for small favors.

The nerve grafting procedure he was scheduled for had been postponed indefinitely. Despite the doctor's concerns that the more they waited, the less viable his damaged nerves would be, there was just no way he was going under the knife until he was sure Steve was awake and on his way to recovery.

They had upgraded his condition and allowed the transfer to a regular room, but now it was Steve who needed to be monitored in the ICU, so Danny had insisted to stay. Doctor Cornett eventually agreed to it, more for the peace of mind of the hospital staff and the rest of the patients on the floor, Danny suspected, but he really didn't care.

What he cared about, the only thing that bothered him, was the fact that Steve was still unresponsive after a whole day. They had explained that his partner's general conditions were already debilitated before the shooting, that he hadn't taken care of himself with sufficient hours of sleep and regular meals in over a week. He was simply exhausted, and his body had shut down to repair itself.

His own injuries forgotten, Danny had begun his vigil. At first though the glass of his cubicle, and then in a wheelchair he'd commandeered to sit at his friend's bedside.

At the 25-hour mark, the Jersey detective was ready to explode.

"Now would be a really good time to wake up, Steven," he urged the still form on the bed, shifting to find a more comfortable position. If there ever was one. "I've been patient enough, but this is getting ridiculous. I guess it's all or nothing with you, huh?"

He watched his friend's chest rise and fall, his gaze traveling to the white bandage covering the abdominal scar from the transplant that'd had to be reopened for the exploratory laparotomy. The man just couldn't seem to get a break.

The thought that Steve had done all this by himself to atone for what he believed was the wrong he'd caused made Danny sick to his stomach. Steve always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders but this time he'd brought guilt to a whole new level.

Lou had told him that the last words he'd uttered before losing consciousness had been for him, that he wanted to see him to tell him something.

Danny didn't need to guess.

He already knew what that was.

And he was going to shake some sense into him, once and for all.

* * *

Steve felt the pain before he even realized to be awake.

He vaguely remembered waking up in the recovery room after surgery, and someone telling him that everything was going to be okay. He must've been on the good stuff back then because now, every part of his body hurt. His chest felt tight, preventing him from breathing properly. A throbbing had settled in around his abdomen, pulsing in tune with his heartbeat and a monitor beeping somewhere to his left. The ache in his leg was dull but there, almost like a burning sensation, and the pounding in his head… that was the worst of it all.

As he slowly crawled his way back to full consciousness, he tried to sort through his disjointed thoughts and the images flashing through his mind.

A bathtub full of blood…

A car exploding…

Someone laughing…

Dead eyes staring at him…

An involuntary shift in position sent sharp flares of agony through his body and he breathed out a soft moan.

"Steve?"

The familiar voice broke through the haze and he latched onto it, turning his head in its direction. "Danny…" he croaked as he tried to open his eyes. The left one opened without much energy, the right felt swollen and lifted to a mere slit. The light, albeit dim, assaulted his pupils and it took some effort to focus on the blurry shape in front of him.

"Yeah, buddy. Right here."

He licked his lips, blinking a few times. He couldn't place the expression on the other man's face.

Was it _fear_?

"Hey, you with me?"

And then he remembered.

His heart sank in his chest and he willed his eyes shut again, turning his head away. He must be hallucinating. The man sitting at his bedside couldn't be Danny. Danny was in a hospital bed of his own and he hated him.

"Steve? You in pain?" The concern in his friend's tone was like a stab to the heart. He shook his head, wincing when the movement triggered a bout of nausea.

"Talk to me, what's wrong?"

Steve's breath hitched.

 _Everything._

Everything was wrong.

He'd shot his best friend.

"Wh-why are you… here?" he asked when he finally dared to meet his gaze, genuinely surprised to see him there.

Why was he worried?

Why did he still care?

Danny saw confusion reflected back at him and knew it wasn't just the pain medication messing with his partner's thinking. "Yeah, buddy, I'm glad to see you too." He covered Steve's hand with his own, taking in the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the rigid jawline. "Why am I here, he asks… Let's see, why am I here…'cause I got a few choices of words for you, but I decided to wait until you get better." His try for levity sounded forced even to his own ears, the smile he tried to plaster on his face not quite reaching his eyes. "What'd you do, huh? What were you thinking?"

His eyes were unnaturally bright, the emotions cracking his voice crystal-clear even for Steve's drug-addled mind. The former SEAL's gaze landed on the swath holding his friend's arm against his body and he immediately looked away as guilt settled once again on his already throbbing chest.

"I needed to make things right."

The answer, so meaningful and yet so simple, didn't get the reaction he had imagined. Danny straightened up in his wheelchair and held out his good arm in a warning gesture.

"Don't. Don't do that. Don't you dare."

"Danny, I…"

"Stop. Just… stop. I know how that head of yours work so let me be clear on something. What happened to me is _not_ your fault."

"No, listen—" Steve attempted to sit up in bed and immediately regretted it when pain slashed across his abdomen. The room started to spin and he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped his lips.

Danny leapt from his chair, ignoring his own discomfort at the movement. "Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing? Lay down, you idiot!" Unable to help him properly with only one functioning hand, he placed it on his friend's neck and gently guided him back against the pillow. "You've got a concussion and a few nice stitches on that thick skull of yours — not to mention the laundry list of other injuries. Don't move."

He looked at the monitors he'd become an expert in reading and breathed in relief, noticing that Steve's vital signs were still steady. "Look at me. Steve? Look at me. You had no choice. It was a screwed-up situation. One that could've ended a lot worse than it did." He paused, ducking his head down and forcing himself into Steve's personal space to make sure he'd listen before continuing. "I don't blame you at all. And if you knew me like you always say you do you'd know I would never do that. None of this is your fault so all this guilt, this self-hatred… that's you, man. That's not me."

Steve reached for his partner's hand and squeezed it, forcing him to listen. "Please, I need… let me say this. I never meant to hurt you, Danny. I hate what happened to you and… whatever role I played in it. I hope you can forgive me."

The ache he was feeling had nothing to do with the injuries he'd sustained, and Danny's expression was a mirror of the same emotions tearing through him.

"You scared the crap out of me," the Jersey native admitted, tightening his own grip.

"I'm sorry. I, uh… I just wanted to fix things."

Danny felt a fierce pride at his friend's loyalty and the lengths he'd been willing to go for him. It had been a close call though, too close a call for him to appreciate the gesture. Ten more minutes and Steve would've bled out on a cold, unfamiliar floor in Sand Island. He couldn't get past that. "And you decided that going on a suicide mission alone would make me feel better?"

Steve was silent for a moment – a long moment that made Danny wonder if he'd even heard him. It was hard to get the words out through the lump in his throat and the sedatives still coursing through his veins but he knew he needed to let it all out if he wanted a chance at patching up their friendship. "I was there when you woke up. I, uh… overheard the doctor say nerve damage was a possibility and— I saw the fear on your face and I just couldn't..." His voice broke and he cleared his throat. "So I thought if I… if I took out the men responsible for it that I could at least face you without hating myself for it."

A tear fell down his cheek. He didn't hide it. Danny had seen him at his worst, he knew he wouldn't judge him. "I've lost too many people in my life. People I cared about. And when I thought I'd lost you too... That—that hurt more than any bullet. I couldn't… Not you."

Danny reached for Steve's wrist again. "You won't," he said in a determined tone. "You're stuck with me for good. But the last thing I need is your death on my conscience, alright? That would kill me. So don't do that to me ever again."

Steve nodded.

"I'll be alright," he continued as they locked eyes. "But I can't do it alone so I'm gonna need your help, not your guilt or your pity. That's all I need. My best friend having my back. Even when I start complaining or say stupid things. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah," Steve whispered.

Something was creeping back into his life, something he thought he'd lost.

 _Hope_.

Maybe he still had a family.

"Yeah, I can."

"Good. That's good."

Silence settled comfortably around them for a moment as Steve's breathing evened out and Danny settled back into his wheelchair. They were both bone-tired and in dire need of rest and yet they felt relieved beyond measure to be alive and in the same room after everything they'd suffered.

There were things Steve still wanted to ask: how Danny felt, what was the doctor's word on his injury, if he would ever be able to come back to work, but he could barely keep his eyes open so he decided to ask the only important question on his mind.

"So are we… are we alright?"

Danny smiled. And this time, it was a real smile. "We are. But next time, if you're gonna do something stupid, you wait for me. We'll do it together, alright?"

"Alright," he said as his eyes slid close, a faint smirk curling his own mouth.

Another minute passed.

"Danny?"

"Yes, Steven."

"Promise me you'll arrest anyone who comes within two feet of me with a needle."

"I will. Get some sleep, SuperSEAL."

TBC


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

* * *

A/N: Surprise! I won't be home tomorrow so I'm posting this a day earlier. I'm a sucker for happy endings after all the angst so I hope this short epilogue will put a smile on everyone's faces.

The story has come to an end, so I want to take a minute to thank everyone who read it and took the time to comment on it. It has been quite a challenge to write it and get the emotions and the characters' voices right, and knowing it was well-received has meant a lot.

I am already working on a new multi-chaptered fic, which I hope to share with you soon. Until then, enjoy your summer!

* * *

 _8 months later_

"Come on, Danny, come on… that's it, buddy, one more!"

Sweat beaded on Danny's forehead as he willed his muscles to complete the last rep of the series, face scrunched up in concentration.

So close… he was _so_ close…

Steve watched him curl the dumbbells up to his shoulders, press them straight up toward the ceiling until his elbows were straight and then lower them back down, beaming with pride at the result.

"You did it, Danny, good job!" he cheered as the Jersey native put the dumbbells down and wiped his face with a towel.

He had done it.

 _He was back._

"I did it…" Danny smiled, shaking his head in amazement.

It had been a long eight months, filled with excitement and doubts, pain and emotional breakdowns on both parts but he was finally strong enough to be cleared for duty, a major accomplishment they could've only dreamt about before his surgery.

His arm had been immobilized for four weeks after the nerve grafting procedure. They'd taught him how to use his left one to perform activities like eating and personal hygiene, and then the rehabilitation had begun: sensory reeducation, range of motion and strengthening exercises had taken up most of his daily routine.

Through it all, he had shown a surprisingly positive mindset. Danny Williams, the guy who always saw the glass half empty, had committed to the program with an inspiring attitude and a dead set determination. That, coupled with the continued support of family, friends and healthcare professionals had slowly but steadily achieved the results they'd hoped for: full range of motion, and a clean bill of health.

The smile on Steve's face was even wider. "You sure did," he said, enveloping him in a hug. "I'm proud of you, buddy."

The former SEAL had basically put his life on hold to be there for Danny every step of the way. He had been his caretaker before even being physically allowed to by his own doctor, had sat through every session of physical therapy, learning the exercises so that they could perform them at home and speed the recovery, and endured every rant and frustration-induced yelling without even flinching.

Even his job, the thing he held most valuable, had been put on the back burner. When his medical condition could no longer be used as an excuse, he had requested a leave and put Lou at the helm of Five-0. Three months later, with Danny improving enough to live by himself and threatening bodily harm if he didn't go back, he'd finally relented and resumed his position as leader of the task force. And for the first time in… well, ever, Steve McGarrett hadn't spent a minute more than he was required to at HQ, needing the closeness to his friend and his family to complete his own healing.

He occasionally still lay awake at night, cursing himself for the mistake he'd made. Sometimes his hands were still red, stained with his partner's blood. But despite it all, Danny still cared. His children still loved him.

With that realization, some of the guilt had lessened. The emotional scars would never heal completely but with Danny at his side, he could learn to live with them.

In another uncharacteristic McGarrett feature, Steve had even agreed to talk to a therapist about his feelings, convincing himself that he was doing it for Danny, to offer him the best version of himself so that his friend could draw from that the strength he needed.

The ordeal had changed them, and the incisions on his partner's collarbone and shoulder would be constant reminders of the moment Fate had decided to put both their lives through the wringer,yet Steve liked to think they were better people now because of it.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

"Here, drink some water," he offered Danny a bottle and gazed with renewed admiration as he effortlessly twisted the cap and took a long sip.

"Thanks," the Jersey native replied, raising the bottle in his direction as if he was making a toast. "I mean it, Steve. Thank you. I couldn't have done this without you."

Steve saw the tears well up in his friend's eyes and ducked his head.

He didn't deserve the gratitude. He'd done nothing special. "Danny, I don't—"

Danny ignored him, wrapping an arm around him instead and pulling him close. "Come here, you big lug. I love you." His embrace was warm and strong and Steve melted into it, relishing in the soothing feeling as his muscles gradually lost its tension and the world around him seemed to disappear.

He felt safe in Danny's arms.

His mind was at peace, and even the future looked a little brighter.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice cracking a little.

Time passed, neither of them wanting the moment to end.

"Come on," Danny eventually said, squeezing Steve's shoulder before pulling away. "We need to go get Charlie and get the cake from the store."

"Not before you take a shower," Steve deadpanned. "You stink."

Danny rolled his eyes, a smile still on his lips. "Thank you for your precious insight, Mr. Obvious. Let's go."

Following up to his promise to do right by James Doyle's innocent son, Steve had worked closely with CPS to find the kid a good home and stayed in touch with him, hoping his steady presence and two loving people at his side would make up for the lack of affection he'd experienced and be enough to change the course of his life for the better.

Under the right influence Kevin had thrived and, in a little over six months, had become a whole different child. For someone who didn't have biological kids of his own, Steve sure seemed to have the whole fatherhood thing down pat mentoring Nahele, Kevin and to some extent, Junior.

Impressed by his partner's commitment and taking it as an opportunity to find closure to his own journey, Danny had started visiting him as well, bringing Charlie along.

Today was the child's birthday, and Steve had promised him chocolate cake and an afternoon of fun at the beach. In a few hours they'd have two hyperactive five-year-olds on their hands, but Danny couldn't think of a more rewarding way to spend his time.

"Wait. I got something for you," Steve said, reaching for one of the pockets of his cargo pants and pulling out Danny's badge. He stared at it for a moment, tracing his thumb over its surface before handing it to him. "Welcome back, partner."

Danny nodded as he took it, the lump in his throat preventing him from using his voice.

He was a cop, and even during those long months of rehab and silent worry he'd always identified himself as one.

Now that shiny piece of metal had given him his identity back.

And everything felt right again.

"So, what'd you get the kid?" he asked as he glanced at the clock on the wall and started to gather his things

"Toy rifle."

"Toy rifle? What, you training him to be a soldier, babe?"

"Kids love guns, Danny," Steve grinned, and Danny pictured a five-year-old version of his friend engaged in a battle.

"They most certainly not! And what are you basing this on? Your vast experience?"

Steve playfully smacked him upside the head. "Shut up, Danny. I'll wait outside."

THE END


End file.
